


The Coronation Gift

by ghoststories



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Comes Into His Chaotic Bisexual Energy and Cannot Be Stopped, But what else is new?, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Fluff, Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, M/M, Merlin is a disaster, Modern Era, Morgana redemption arc, Questioning Reality, Time Travel, because I say so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoststories/pseuds/ghoststories
Summary: At his coronation, Arthur receives a great many gifts; however, one in particular stands out as Arthur learns it has the ability to transport him 1,500 years into the future while he sleeps.With the mounting pressure that comes with ruling a kingdom, Arthur slowly finds himself preferring this dream-world where it seems that everything he's ever wanted is true. His mother and father alive, Morgana her old self, his friends together, and Merlin properly at his side. As Camelot begins collapsing around Arthur as he sleeps, he's faced with a choice: to remain in the world of dreams or return to his real life and destiny. Merlin only hopes that he can convince Arthur to stay in the real world before it's too late.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Knights & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 213





	1. Prologue/Lady Winnifred

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been stuck in my head a while now and since we're all in quarantine anyway, I figured ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ why not?
> 
> Based loosely on Cora Taylor's "The Doll"

Arthur sat at his desk in his chambers, feeling numb. Still reeling from the day—still processing. 

He was king now.

It didn’t feel real. Whatever disagreements they’d had throughout Arthur’s life, Uther had still been his father. Had still been an omnipresent force since Arthur’s birth. With his loss, Arthur was now feeling as though a rug had been pulled out from underneath him. He suddenly felt all too aware of the overwhelming number of small things that he didn’t know how to do. Would he now be the one to organize the seemingly endless feasts for the nobles? Surely someone else was in charge of that. But maybe… Why hadn’t he ever thought to ask his father? He was sure it would have only taken a moment to explain. The more Arthur thought about it, the more he realized that there was still so much that he didn’t know—even about his father as a person. Things like Uther’s favorite color. Had he even had one? Why hadn’t Arthur ever asked? Why—

Arthur’s spiral was interrupted by the sudden clang of metal striking the floor. He looked up to where Merlin had been shuffling through a pile of gifts from Arthur’s coronation and saw the man in question scrambling to pick up an ornate, jewel-encrusted, silver bowl as it rolled across the room.

Feeling Arthur’s eyes on him, Merlin offered the new king an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Sire,” he said as he straightened, bowl in hand. “Lost my grip. Don’t worry, though. It’s still worth more than everything I own.”

Merlin’s smile was forced, Arthur noted listlessly. Nowhere near his usual absurd level of cheerfulness. Vaguely, Arthur wondered why Merlin, who had never seemed particularly fond of Uther, was taking his loss as if it were personal. When Arthur didn’t respond, Merlin’s smile slipped.

“Arthur?” he asked softly. “Maybe you should call it a day? Get some rest?” He placed the bowl down and made for the door. “I’ll go ask Gaius for a sleeping draft.”

Arthur blinked. _Oh_ , he realized, belatedly answering his previous musing. _He’s worried about me._ “I’m fine, Merlin. I don’t need a draft. I’m just…” he trailed off. How was he meant to put into words how he was, when each emotion seemed to wholly contradict the next? Luckily, Merlin seemed, as he so often did, to understand implicitly.

“Overwhelmed?” he offered, giving a genuine, albeit small, smile. Arthur gave a short nod, grateful for the interpretation, but not trusting himself to voice his gratitude out loud. Merlin seemed to contemplate something before his face split into a wide, familiar grin. “Well,” he continued, picking his way purposefully through Arthur’s gifts. “If you don’t want a sleeping draft, there’s always the more— _ahem,_ traditional method.” 

Arthur felt his cheeks flush as his eyebrows shot into his hairline, as Merlin muttered something to himself about having _"_ _just_ seen it.” He had schooled his face into something more neutral when Merlin let out a triumphant cry and was emerging from the pile of gifts with…

Arthur’s incredulity broke through his impassive expression as he broke his silence. _"M_ _er_ lin.” Merlin’s grin widened at the familiar exasperated tone and he wiggled the item in front of him. “What is _that."_

“What?” Merlin laughed, still holding what appeared to be a child’s fabric toy, dressed in an elaborate— _pink —_gown. “I think it’s sweet. The people of Camelot know you’re too much of a prat to get a wife of your own, so they’ve made you one! She’ll help you sleep!”

Arthur felt his previous numbness being slowly replaced with the fond sort of annoyance he’d come to associate with Merlin’s antics. It must have shown on his face, because Merlin looked as though he couldn’t possibly smile any harder. “That was _not_ one of my coronation gifts.”

Merlin snickered and danced the doll in front of Arthur. “Oh Arthur,” he exclaimed in a mocking falsetto, “of course not! I came here all on my own. Just for you. Don’t you think I’m pretty?” One of the doll’s button eyes fell off and rolled across the floor. After a beat of silence, Merlin’s previous snickering bubbled over into full-blown laughter and even Arthur felt his own serious expression crack into a smile. 

“Shut it,” he laughed finally, grabbing the doll from Merlin’s hands and turning it over. Upon further inspection, he realized that despite the elaborate princess gown, the doll was far from professionally made.

“She was probably made by one of your subjects in the lower town,” Merlin offered in his uncanny ability to always know what Arthur was thinking. “They think the world of you, you know.”

Arthur’s face became solemn once again. He said nothing. After a moment, Merlin sighed and dragged an additional chair over to the desk and gently took the doll from Arthur’s grasp. He was already holding the doll’s missing eye, a needle, and some thread. As he began mending the doll’s eye, Arthur lifted an eyebrow and waited expectantly for Merlin’s inevitable, wisdom-laden lecture.

“Look,” Merlin started. “I know… I mean—it’s a lot right now, and… But you’ve already proven so much to everyone. There’s really no need to— I just mean—” Off to a bumpy start, then.

“—Is this your way of telling me you think I’ll make a good king?” Arthur asked, his tone torn somewhere between smug and tired.

“I think you’ll be a great king,” Merlin replied bluntly, eyes burning with such honesty that Arthur felt slightly wrong-footed. Not knowing how to respond, and needing to look away from Merlin’s earnest expression, Arthur turned his attention back to the doll in Merlin’s hands. 

“Arthur.”

Arthur made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement, but still didn’t look back up.

 _"Arthur."_ More forceful this time. Arthur dragged his gaze up and met Merlin’s open expression of concern. Merlin studied him for a moment before turning back to his work, saying simply, “It’s okay if you’re scared you know. All that matters is that you care. That you’re taking your responsibilities seriously. It’ll be alright.”

Arthur let his head fall back against his chair as he sighed. Blast Merlin’s accursed wisdom. And blast his own apparent transparency when it came to his manservant. “I don’t… I don’t want to fail them,” he said finally. “But I suddenly feel horribly unprepared.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Merlin pause and give him a considering look. 

“You’ll make mistakes. You’re still a bit of a dollophead, so it goes without saying.” Arthur’s head snapped up and he shot Merlin a glare, which Merlin simply shrugged off. “Well it’s true,” he continued, unfazed. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t learn from them. That’s the benefit of your thick head. It’s resilient. And you’ll have your advisers, and your knights, Gwen, me… We’re all here for you, you know. We won’t let you mess up too bad.”

“Because you make such spectacular decisions,” Arthur said sarcastically, a teasing smile coming back to his expression.

Merlin’s face contorted into mock outrage. “You wouldn’t last a day without me and my incredible decision-making skills and you know it!”

Arthur snorted and his face softened. “Right,” he said. And after a pause, “Thanks.”

Merlin beamed and gave an exaggerated bow from his chair, involving a lot of wrist twirling. “I live to serve you, my lord.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but the weight in his chest felt lighter. That tended to happen after speaking of his troubles with Merlin for any length of time. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Right,” he said again, getting to his feet. “I’m turning in. I’ve had quite enough of your smug expression for one night.”

Merlin snorted lightly, but nevertheless rose to fetch Arthur’s nightclothes. As he helped him change, Merlin seemed to pause. “Are you sure you don’t want a sleeping draft? I’d only be a moment.”

Had anyone else made the suggestion, Arthur suspected he would have been annoyed at the repeated question and the insinuation that he was incapable of caring for himself; however, as it was Merlin and Merlin—though Arthur would vehemently deny it—was always an exception and would always—though Merlin would vehemently deny it—receive special treatment, all Arthur could manage was the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest that occurred anytime Merlin offered Arthur any sort of attention. In a somewhat uncommon display of affection, Arthur placed a reassuring hand on Merlin’s shoulder and offered him a grateful look that probably conveyed more than Arthur meant it to. “I’m sure Merlin. But thank you. Really.”

Merlin met his gaze with a look so intense Arthur felt he might fall if he didn’t look away. “If I could take away your burden, give you a peaceful life, I would. In a heartbeat.”

The backs of Arthur’s eyes began to burn, which Arthur rectified by turning abruptly from Merlin and climbing into bed. It was at times like these, Arthur could almost believe that Merlin felt the same way for him that he did for Merlin. But that would, of course, require that Arthur felt anything other than camaraderie with his manservant. Which would be highly inappropriate and not at all true. “I’m fine,” he said instead. “I… I have what I need.” When he had composed himself enough, he looked up. Merlin had seemed to accept Arthur’s assurances and gave him a small smile, which quickly turned into a smirk, his blue eyes taking on a wicked gleam. “Alright. Just don’t forget the Lady Winnifred.”

“Lady Winnifred?” Arthur asked incredulously. 

Merlin wordlessly held up the now-repaired doll and Arthur groaned, letting his head fall back into his pillows. He heard Merlin snicker and approach the bedside table. “I’ll just leave her here, shall I?” he asked, positioning the doll— _Lady Winnifred,_ Arthur thought sarcastically—against a small chest atop the table. “In case you get _lonely."_

Arthur turned his head, directing a glare Merlin’s way. “I will throw you in the stocks for a week,” he deadpanned, somewhat unconvincingly. Merlin gave one last snort of laughter, telling Arthur exactly what he thought of the validity of that threat, while he went about the room extinguishing the candles.

“Good night, Arthur,” he said gently.

Arthur sighed. “Good night, Merlin.”

He heard his heavy chamber doors close behind Merlin as he left the room. Once he was certain he was alone, Arthur buried his face into his pillows and curled in on himself, falling quickly, thankfully, into sleep.

From his bedside table, the doll’s eyes seemed to glow gold.


	2. Picture Book

When Arthur awoke, there was light streaking into his chambers in droves. He groaned and buried his face further into his pillows. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so comfortable in his entire life.

“Merlin,” he grunted. He thought that, given yesterday’s circumstances, he would be allowed a bit of a lie-in, but this was obviously not the case, as his manservant had seen fit to wake him in the usual fashion of throwing open his curtains. “ _Mer_ lin,” he called again.

The mattress moved underneath him, accompanied by an irritated groan. Arthur felt himself jolt awake.

Someone was in his bed.

Arthur flung his leg out in a strong kick, catching his intruder by surprise, if their strangled squawk and subsequent tumble to the floor was anything to go by. He reached for his sword, only for his hand to grasp at empty air. Whirling around, Arthur felt an icy chill go through his body. 

These… were not his chambers. He sprung from the bed.

By instinct, Arthur attempted to catalog his surroundings, but only the furniture was vaguely recognizable, in the sense that he only vaguely recognized it as being furniture. Probably. The room itself was a pale blue while the furniture all appeared to be a white sort of wood. Strange items laid about the room. Even the furs on his bed were gone, replaced with a strange material covered in images of… some sort of malformed dragons with no wings and inappropriately small arms? The blankets rustled from where the intruder had fallen and Arthur, weaponless, braced himself for a fight.

That was, of course, until he heard a familiar grumble come from the floor.

“Honestly, Arthur, what the sodding _hell?”_

Arthur froze, not trusting his ears. _“Merlin?_ ”

And indeed, it was Merlin’s head that popped into view from the other side of the bed. Bleary-eyed with his hair disheveled, even by Merlin’s own lax standards, in this strange room, he still somehow managed a scowl in Arthur’s direction. “You know, if you wanted me up that bad, you could have just nudged me. There’s no reason to get violent at,” Merlin squinted at a small, glowing box on the bedside table. _“Six in the morning?_ Christ Arthur, it’s _Saturday.”_

Arthur remained frozen, finding himself unable to come up with a response—any kind of response.

Seemingly oblivious to Arthur’s internal crisis, Merlin crawled back onto the bed and under the covers, grumbling under his breath. “If you want to go on one of your insane morning runs, be my guest, but leave me out of it.”

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice came out strangled, even to his own ears. Merlin didn’t move, but gave a low hum of acknowledgment before cocooning himself further into the blankets. _“Merlin.”_ Arthur heard his voice crack and it was this that finally seemed to grab Merlin’s usually inescapable attention.

Poking his head out from underneath the blankets and turning to face him, Merlin blinked the final dregs of sleep from his eyes. “Arthur?” he asked carefully, taking in Arthur’s fight or flight stance and the slightly wild look in his eyes. “Arthur are you okay?”

“I—”

Merlin propped himself up and Arthur realized for the first time that Merlin’s clothes—some kind of odd-looking shirt with peculiar sleeves and a large image and lettering on the front—were similar to the unfamiliar clothes he himself was wearing, though he was quite sure he had never owned red tartan trousers or the strange, soft black shirt that he was currently dressed in. In fact, Arthur distinctly remembered the brush of Merlin’s fingers as he dressed him in his white sleepshirt and soft brown trousers before Merlin had _left for the night._

Merlin was staring at him in open concern now, his dark eyebrows furrowed together. His too-large shirt exposed a clavicle, drawing Arthur’s stare for a beat. Several beats. Too many beats. It wasn’t until Merlin made to get out of the bed that Arthur came back to his senses.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Surprisingly, Merlin appeared shocked by the question. He froze, mid-motion and his jaw hung loosely for a moment before he let out a laughing, _"W_ _hat?_ ”

Frustrated, Arthur reached into the bed, and grabbed Merlin by the arm and yanked him up. Merlin stumbled and flailed, attempting to regain his balance now that he was suddenly standing. _“Arthur!”_ Arthur ignored him, scanning the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, but finding nothing. 

“Stay behind me,” he growled, determined to at least protect his numpty of a servant from his own cluelessness. “Merlin, _how did we get here?”_

Merlin answered by smacking him in the back of the head. “You _clotpole,_ what are you on about? We’re _home!”_ He yanked his arm free from Arthur’s grip and glared at him accusingly. “Did you stay up all night again reviewing for your BPTC? I’ve told you a million times, you need to take a day here and there. It’s no use torturing yourself like this.” Merlin’s hands were on Arthur’s shoulder and all Arthur could do was stare blankly at him. “That’s it,” he announced after realizing Arthur was not going to respond. “Today’s a break day. I’ve decided for you. We’re going to go into the city and do whatever you want for the day— _not law-related_ —then we’re going to meet up with Gwaine and the others at the pub and get you good and pissed, and then we’re going to go home and you’re going to _sleep._ Do you hear me?”

Arthur gaped at Merlin, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. He had recognized about half of the words Merlin had just vomited all over him and had processed even fewer. Merlin seemed to take pity on him and grasped his shoulders tighter. “Just… lay back down for now, yeah? I’ll make us some breakfast.”

If Arthur had felt out of his element before, it was _nothing_ compared to how he felt when Merlin leaned over, pressed his lips to Arthur’s own, and chirped, “Be right back!” before turning out of the room. Arthur felt his thoughts screech to a halt as he stood in shock, attempting to process the last few minutes and failing spectacularly.

In a daze, he moved slowly to the chamber door and peered down the narrow corridor that Merlin had disappeared into. Merlin, who had obviously lost his mind and did not seem at all concerned by the fact that they were _very clearly not in Camelot._ Luckily at the moment, they also didn’t appear to be in any sort of immediate danger. Except that they were most certainly pawns in an overarching magical plot of some kind. A plot that messed with their minds, as well as their surroundings, if Merlin’s kiss was any indication. Arthur felt a flush take over his face. Yes, he thought. Merlin was obviously enchanted and didn’t realize it, fool that he was, and was now being used by the sorcerer to distract Arthur. Which wouldn’t work because Arthur’s feelings for Merlin were completely appropriate and not buried under a mountain of denial at all, thank you very much. The only reason Arthur himself was aware of the enchantment was because of his superior mental fortitude and training. 

Obviously.

A loud clang came from down the tiny corridor, startling Arthur out of his reverie. Without pausing to even remind himself that he was still without a weapon or armor, he bolted towards the sound of metal, hoping that Merlin in his eternal clumsiness had at least _tried_ to block any attack.

However, when he hurtled into the room he heard the sound coming from, he was met only with the scene of his manservant sat on the floor of a tiny kitchen, surrounded by pots. Evidently, he had been trying to remove one from the cupboard and failed. When Merlin noticed Arthur staring, he shot him a bright smile.

“I’ve had a mishap,” he said happily, gesturing towards the scattered cookware on the floor. “But I was thinking of making those lemon pancakes we had on holiday last year? We have everything for the berry compote.” As he spoke, Merlin had begun returning the pots to the cupboard and finally stood, holding a large pan triumphantly. “You’ve got sausages in the freezer, too, if you want. But you’re on your own for cooking them.”

Arthur didn’t know what a freezer was. He also didn’t understand why he would be expected to cook any of his own food, let alone only a single portion of the meal. But, realizing that he perhaps had more important things to question, decided to instead ask, “What is going on?”

Merlin simply blinked before shaking his head and laughing. “Breakfast. Breakfast is what’s going on. Then the shops. Maybe lunch at Barnard Park? Definitely a pub tonight. I’ll message the group chat when it’s not _six a.m.”_ He looked at Arthur pointedly and continued. “Or, you know, whatever else you want to do that has nothing to do with studying. Oh! We could go to the museum! They have this exhibit on manga that’s closing soon, and I still haven’t gotten around to seeing it. Or we could—”

Growing frustrated, Arthur cut him off. “No, I mean, what is happening here? Where are we? How did we get here?”

Blue eyes widened and Merlin sputtered. “Wait, you seriously don’t know where you are?” Merlin’s hands were suddenly cupping Arthur’s face and Arthur found himself again trying to fight down a flush. “You’re serious? Really?” He turned Arthur’s head from side to side, as if expecting to find an injury.

Arthur shook off Merlin’s hands roughly, earning himself an even more flabbergasted look. _“Really.”_

“You’re not having me on?” Merlin sounded slightly hysterical.

Arthur glared. “I’m _quite_ certain we have more important things to worry about than me ‘having you on,’ so focus, will you? Where are we?” Merlin said nothing, just stared at Arthur with a lost expression on his face. Arthur felt himself getting even more exasperated. _“Merlin!_ We have to get back to Camelot. We can’t do that until we know where we are and you seem like you know this place, so where. Are. We.”

“Camelot?” Merlin echoed hoarsely, looking pained. Arthur stared silently and tried to refrain from tapping his foot. Merlin seemed to contemplate something before asking, tone careful, “Arthur? Did you… maybe hit your head last night?” Catching his fuming expression, Merlin threw his hands up in a defensive position. “Right,” he said. “Alright, of course not. Just… give me a second? I’m gonna ring Gaius.” Without waiting for a response, Merlin ran back down the corridor where he and Arthur had awoken.

Arthur stood in stunned silence. While Merlin was now suitably concerned, it was over the wrong thing. Arthur took in his surroundings, needing a minute before chasing after his manservant once again. The tiny kitchen, for some reason, opened into another room containing a sitting area with plush, fabric covered chairs, wide enough to sit four or five people on. A flat, polished stone of some kind was mounted on the wall, surrounded by small frames of various sizes. Cautiously, Arthur crept into the room to examine them more closely.

He was shocked to discover that each one contained startlingly lifelike portraits. Arthur blinked and looked closer. His own face stared back at him with a wide smile, an arm looped around Merlin’s shoulders. One of Merlin’s arms reached inexplicably out of the frame as he beamed. Arthur’s eyes slid to another frame where he was met with an image of his knights, all in strange clothing, looking like they were in some sort of tavern. Front and center was Percival, who was holding Gwaine as if he were a bride. One of Gwaine’s legs was thrown out, toe pointed dramatically, while his head had fallen back, clearly caught in the middle of a full-bodied laugh. Percival’s frozen look was torn between amusement and resignation. Leon’s arm was tossed over Percival’s shoulder and was, like Gwaine, laughing, his eyes scrunched shut with mirth. Elyan stood at Percival’s other side, trying—and failing—to look disapproving. Next to him was Lancelot, hand in hand with Guinevere, the latter of whom was hiding a grin behind her hand. At the opposite end was Arthur himself, riding on Merlin’s back, jovially holding an oddly-shaped tankard aloft, his legs wrapped around Merlin’s midsection. Merlin, face blotchy, appeared to be struggling to hold Arthur up, but to his credit, there was still a winded sort of smile on his face. 

Arthur looked from portrait to portrait: one of himself outdoors with dark, reflective glasses obscuring his eyes; another of him and Merlin in strange, slim-fitting black outfits on either side of Lancelot, in a similar outfit, and Gwen, resplendent in an elaborate white gown fit for a queen. There was one where Merlin, stacked on Arthur’s shoulders, held his hands in a pushing motion so that he appeared to be holding up a tilted tower in the background; another of Merlin in a monochromatic blue outfit, bending over a small metal table to wrap his arms around a dopey-looking dog, flashing the artist a blinding smile; and yet another in which Arthur was being hugged tightly around the neck by… _Morgana?_

Arthur shook his head and looked again, as if expecting the image to change. But there she was, looking happier than Arthur could ever remember seeing her, clad in a green dress that called attention to her bright eyes, her face pressed close against his portrait’s own. Taking in the fond expression on his own likeness, Arthur felt a choking sensation as his throat began to close. Her betrayal still felt raw. He looked away. He had to get Merlin and get back to Camelot. It wouldn’t surprise him if Morgana herself was the one responsible for their current situation. 

He made his way back down the narrow corridor towards the room he woke up in. From his place in the hall, he could hear Merlin speaking to someone in a hushed, frightened tone.

“No, Gaius,” he was saying. His back was to Arthur and he was holding something rectangular to his ear. “He just keeps saying that he doesn’t know where he is. He said we had to get back to _Camelot.”_ A pause. “No, he got mad when I even suggested it… I know, but you know how stubborn he is on a normal day. If he thinks he’s fine, there’s no way he’ll go. How am I supposed to— uh huh… yeah… no, no, you’re right, I know. Hang on, I’ll get him and maybe you can try to talk some sense into him?”

Merlin turned and jumped slightly when he noticed Arthur standing in the doorway. “Arthur,” he exclaimed. “I’ve got Gaius. He wants to talk to you.” He held out the rectangular device he was previously holding to his ear in an expectant manner. After taking in Arthur’s bewildered expression, Merlin gave a frustrated sigh and tapped the object. “Gaius,” he called, now holding the object at arm’s length between them. “You’re on speaker, can you hear me?”

To Arthur’s amazement, the familiar voice of the old physician sounded throughout the room, emanating from the device in Merlin’s hand. “I can hear you fine, Merlin. Have you got Arthur?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Merlin walked closer to Arthur, who backed into the wall. His eyebrows furrowed. “Arthur?”

“That’s—! That’s sorcery, you idiot!” Arthur yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Merlin let out a strangled groan and brought the object closer to his own mouth. “You see?” he cried. “He’s barking. Think’s the mobile’s evil or something. Gaius, what do I _do?”_

Gaius’ response was steady. “Merlin, _you_ need to calm down. Arthur? Arthur can you still hear me?”

Arthur nodded mutely before realizing his mistake and trying again. “Yes?” He felt foolish talking to air, but it probably wasn’t worth feeling embarrassed over.

“Arthur, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Gaius’ voice continued. “There’s something wrong—”

“— _Thank_ you,” Arthur interrupted. Gaius would certainly be able to explain to Merlin what was happening, even if Arthur himself couldn’t.

“—with you.” Gaius finished sternly. “Arthur, you need to let Merlin take you to hospital.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Arthur exclaimed incredulously, feeling a little betrayed. “It’s this place that’s wrong, we have to get out.”

Arthur could almost hear Gaius’ eyebrow raise. “Arthur,” he began, but Merlin interrupted.

“No, Arthur’s right,” he declared, as if realizing something. “This place _is_ wrong. We should definitely leave. Right now.”

Arthur eyed Merlin suspiciously, not trusting Merlin’s sudden burst of clarity. “Right,” he trailed off. 

Merlin nodded, decisive. “I’ve just remembered. Camelot, I mean. We should go, er, get back quickly.” He’d never sounded so suspicious in his life, Arthur wagered internally. “So Gaius, we’re gonna come get you, okay? So we can all go back together.”

There was a pause, the Gaius responded, sounding resigned. “Very well. I’ll expect you within the hour.”

“Great,” said Merlin hoarsely, not breaking eye contact with Arthur. “See you soon.” The hand holding the rectangular object dropped limply to Merlin’s side and gave three low chirps before falling silent. Neither of them said anything.

Finally, Merlin shook himself. “Okay. Arthur? We have to go get Gaius now. Are you… okay?”

Arthur snapped back to his senses. “Okay? You just used sorcery in front of me!”

“Sorcer… Oh for the love of— Arthur, it’s my _mobile._ Technology, not sorcery! Look, it’s not important, get dressed,” he said, throwing a wad of fabric at him. 

Arthur caught the cloth, revealing a strange shirt that seemed to be several sizes too small despite feeling quite stretchy, and a pair of thick trousers made of a stiff navy blue material. Neither seemed as if they would offer any protection in the event of an attack. Surely Merlin knew this, at least. Arthur looked up to voice his concerns and immediately began sputtering at the sight of his manservant.

For Merlin had removed his shirt and trousers and was clad only in… well, they were far too short to be called trousers, at any rate. Light blue with darker, horizontal stripes, the cloth left little to the imagination—skin tight and only reaching partway down Merlin’s thighs.

After a moment, Merlin, who had been hunched over and presenting Arthur with an up close and personal and not at _all_ distracting view of his scantily-clad backside, straightened, covering up the strange garment with a pair of trousers similar to those which he had just thrown at Arthur. They looked entirely too tight to be comfortable.

“What are you waiting for, you cabbage head?” Merlin exclaimed as he tugged a shirt over his head. “We’ve got to go. Get changed.”

_“... Myself?”_

Perhaps not the thing he should be most concerned about, admittedly.

Merlin froze and closed his eyes. “Oh gods,” he breathed. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten how to dress yourself, too.”

Arthur felt his face heat in embarrassment and he yanked his shirt off in defiance of Merlin’s pseudo-accusation, grunting when it got caught over his head. “Of course I haven’t _forgotten._ It’s just that it’s usually your job, isn’t it?” If the last part came out a little petulantly, no one needed to know.

Merlin laughed despite himself. “I dunno, seems like my job’s usually the exact opposite.”

Arthur was grateful his shirt was caught over his face. It hid his newfound tomato-like complexion wonderfully. If Merlin kept kissing him and talking about undressing him with _that_ tone, his poor not-feelings wouldn’t be able to take it.

After a few moments of watching him struggle, Merlin took pity on him and approached. Disentangling him from his previous shirt and helping him into his new one, he said softly, “It’ll be okay Arthur. We’ll get to Gaius and figure this out.”

Arthur swallowed roughly, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and, finding himself too choked up to properly respond, simply nodded. Merlin, despite his earlier assertion that it wasn’t his job, helped him into his trousers which were, as he expected, tight, but surprisingly not uncomfortable.

Merlin stepped back, looked Arthur up and down, and nodded, satisfied with his work. He slipped the rectangular object from before into his pocket, along with a worn, leather fold. “Ready?” he asked.

Still incapable of speech, Arthur nodded curtly and allowed Merlin to take him by the hand and lead him from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I originally wrote this, there was actually a manga exhibit going on, but it's since closed. I considered updating it, but... eh.
> 
> Next Chapter: Arthur vs. Uber


	3. Puzzle Pieces

Arthur liked to think that there was little in the world that could truly catch him by surprise and he prided himself on a quick recovery time. After all, he had faced off against sorcerers, griffins, undead knights, dragons, and the like. But he had to admit that waking up in this strange world where one could communicate via rectangles and have it still not be considered magic (of this, however, Arthur was still not fully convinced, but it would have to wait), was an instance where he felt no shame in his shock. Still, as Arthur allowed Merlin to pull him out the door and into a stairwell, despite not yet having any idea what was going on, Arthur felt himself calm. Okay, he thought to himself, following Merlin down the narrow staircase. It’s just a corridor and some stairs. It’s not that different. They reached the bottom of the stairs and Merlin pulled open another door.

And Arthur felt what little confidence he had managed to build up promptly collapse. 

Large, horseless carriages sped by at impossible speeds, the ground was solid and uniform with small, sporadically placed trees separating the few people milling about from the racing carriages. Even the air smelt strange. An iron gate lined the entry to the building and bells were ringing loudly from what Arthur thought must be a church, just down the road. Their door was red, he noted absently. 

And Merlin. Merlin with his big, blue doe eyes and general skittishness, had begun navigating them through the area with purpose. The small rectangle, which Arthur vaguely recalled Merlin had said was called a ‘mobile,’ was in his hand once again as he looked up and down the street expectantly. After a moment, his expression brightened.

“Here we go,” he said, as one of the horseless carriages, shiny and black, slowed to a stop in front of them.

A man sat inside and called out, “Merlin? Heading to Montpelier Square?”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied gratefully, opening the carriage door behind the man. He turned to Arthur. “Well? Come on, get in.”

Arthur knew Merlin could be a bit na ïve at times, but this was ridiculous. “What, in  _ there?” _

“Yes, Arthur, in the car,” Merlin replied impatiently. “Come one, Gaius is waiting.”

Arthur eyed the other carriages, traveling just as fast, if not faster, than any horse he’d ever encountered, with no visible means of propulsion. “Can’t we walk?” he asked nervously, not about to trust his and Merlin’s lives to this stranger who was apparently controlling the carriage.

Merlin blanched. “What to  _ Knightsbridge?  _ That’d take at least an hour or two!”

“Ride then,” Arthur tried, a bit desperately. “Surely there’s someone we could borrow horses from.”

Merlin’s expression turned pained as he wordlessly mouthed the word,  _ ‘Horses.’ _ “Arthur,” he started, but the carriage driver interrupted.

“Mate, you taking this or not?”

“No, we are,” Merlin insisted, then turned back to Arthur.  _ “Please,”  _ he begged. “Just get in the car. I promise it’s fine, but we have to go.” Arthur took in Merlin’s earnest expression, but wasn’t convinced his manservant hadn’t simply lost his mind. It was Merlin’s turn to be desperate. “The faster we get to Gaius, the faster we can get back to Camelot.” Arthur paused. He still wasn’t sure that Merlin would actually take him back to Camelot, not in his enchanted state. But if he could reach Gaius and convince him…

Arthur slipped wordlessly into the ‘car.’ Relieved, Merlin followed, strapping himself in with some kind of harness. After a pointed look from both Merlin and the driver, Arthur followed his lead and pulled his own harness across his shoulder.

The carriage’s owner shifted, somewhat uncomfortably, as Merlin shut the door. “He alright?” he asked, jerking his head towards Arthur.

“Yeah,” replied Merlin. “Rough night, is all.”

The man nodded and the carriage began to move. Aware that nearly everything he said only seemed to upset Merlin, Arthur sat in silence, gazing out the window at the passing scenery. The longer they rode, the more people came out of their homes. And what homes they were. Arthur had always thought the castle in Camelot impressive, but he had never seen buildings so large and strange. The further they went, the more elaborate the structures became. While some seemed to be made of stone, others had large windows that took up the entire fronts and reflected Arthur’s stunned face as they passed. 

Even the people seemed odd. They walked about briskly, in fitted, dark clothing. Everyone seemed to have mobiles like Merlin’s, and they talked into them as they hurried along the road.

Arthur felt a hand on his thigh and tore his gaze from the window to face Merlin. “You doing okay?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded and Merlin’s fingers threaded through his own in response. Before his eyes even had time to widen, Merlin’s head was resting on his shoulder, as he absently played with their clasped hands. “We’ll be at Gaius’ soon,” he said softly, toying with the ring on Arthur’s thumb, oblivious to how Arthur’s mind was grinding to a halt, caught up in the sweet floral scent emanating from Merlin’s hair. 

This. They were going to have to talk about this.

Somehow, he didn’t think it wise to bring it up now. Not when Merlin was so clearly already upset. Arthur took in the way his manservant’s eyelashes rested on his skin. The striking contrast between his dark hair and fair skin was not something that really ever escaped Arthur’s notice before, although he had previously chalked up those passing admirations and subsequent flustered moments to exhaustion. He had, after all, been dealing with his father’s illness and death, Morgana’s betrayal, his uncle’s sudden, taxing appearance, and his own coronation. Merlin’s calming presence had been heaven-sent, so it was only natural, Arthur had assured himself, to want to spend as much time with the man as possible, which would, in turn, allow Arthur time to notice more about him. They were friends, after all, though Arthur was loath to admit it out loud to anyone other than Merlin himself. And friends noticed each other’s appearances. 

Distanly, he recalled Morgana and Gwen gushing over the other’s hair or dress. Gwaine in particular had always been free with his words, never hesitating to compliment his sparring partner with a jaunty wink or to wax poetic about the way the sunlight was striking Merlin’s cheekbones, which always reduced Merlin to a flustered mess. When the latter occurred, Arthur would immediately put a stop to Gwaine’s ‘nonsense,’ as he called it, by yelling at Gwaine for distracting Merlin and sentencing him to thirty laps around the training field. Harsh, perhaps, but it had certainly soothed Arthur’s sudden burst of rage to see Gwaine red-faced and puffing. 

Arthur could even recall multiple occasions where he himself had actually solicited Merlin’s own opinion on his appearance and that Merlin had expressed no sarcasm or shame in telling him he looked dashing, even if he did tell Arthur other times that he looked like a toad. So it wasn’t unusual. Not really.

Compliments and noticing aside, Merlin had never kissed him before. And they had certainly never done  _ this, _ he thought as Merlin pressed himself closer to Arthur’s side, still stroking his hand. No, this was new.

But not entirely unwelcome, if Arthur was being honest with himself. Even with his earlier (and continuing) panic that they’d been enchanted as a part of some nefarious plot, he still felt a strange sort of calm suggesting that this was all okay and he was safe. And if he privately hoped that Merlin would peck him on the lips again, well that was his own business. Arthur allowed himself to relax into Merlin, who looked up at him, offering a tentative smile, which Arthur returned, feeling a little breathless. They made the rest of the journey in silence, and all the while, Merlin kept his hold on Arthur’s hand.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop in front of a wall of white homes, with iron rails and balconies decorated with plants, across from a small, grassy courtyard, the driver turned to Merlin once again. “This the place?” he asked.

Merlin straightened and undid his harness, but still did not let go of Arthur’s hand. “Yep,” he replied, as Arthur struggled slightly with his own harness. He laughed a little and let go of Arthur’s hand to help him out of his tangle. “Thanks, mate,” he said to the driver. “Have a good one.” He and Arthur climbed out of the carriage and Merlin was once again, tapping his mobile before placing it back in his pocket.

Their driver nodded, thanked Merlin, and raised his hand in a jovial wave, before continuing down the road. Arthur looked around. They were in front of buildings similar to the one he and Merlin had just left, though he got the distinct impression that these buildings were a lot nicer. Merlin, once again lacing his fingers through Arthur’s, led him up to a solid wood door, with several potted plants decorating the entry, some suspended from the wrought iron gate surrounding the home.

As the pair approached, the door opened, revealing Camelot’s court physician, clad in loose, light brown trousers, a light blue shirt with multiple small buttons, and a dreadfully worried expression on his face. Arthur instantly felt relief wash over him at the sight of the old man. Gaius was the wisest man he ever knew. He had cared for Arthur since he was a boy. If anyone would know what to do, it would be him.

Arthur and Merlin jogged up the low steps and, while Arthur felt immediately at ease simply being in the man’s presence, all of the calm silence Merlin had possessed during their trip seemed to evaporate all at once. After a brief exchange of greetings, Merlin launched into a recount of the morning.

Gaius, bless his heart, took Merlin’s outburst in stride, stepping aside to allow him to storm through the entryway. Noticing Arthur’s bewildered expression, he gestured for Arthur to enter as well and led him over to the plush bench Merlin had collapsed on, his story winding down.

“And that’s when I rang you,” Merlin finished, looking defeated. “I figured I’d have an easier time taking him to A&E if you were with us. What the hell do we do? What’s wrong with him?” Merlin was slowly working himself back to hysterical.

Gaius held up a hand before Merlin could really get going again. “Merlin, the first thing you need to do is calm down,” he said. Merlin gave a small scowl, but his mouth snapped shut nonetheless, and he deflated slightly. Gaius turned to Arthur. “What’s the last thing you remember before going to be last night?”

“Studying for my BPTC exam,” he replied automatically, then froze. What the hell…? “No!” he shouted, causing both Merlin and Gaius to jump. “I don’t— I was in my chambers after the coronation, talking to Merlin, and then I went to sleep!”

“Your… coronation?” Gaius asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Arthur, frustrated. “My coronation. As king of Camelot. After the death of my father.” To his right, Merlin made a choking sound. Arthur ignored him. “I was at my desk and Merlin was acting like a fool with the gifts and, since it was a  _ very long day, _ I went to sleep early, but woke up here. We’ve been enchanted, that’s the only explanation. Whoever the sorcerer is, they needed to get us out of Camelot, so they sent us here, but we have to get back—everyone’s in who knows what kind of danger. Please, you have to wake up!”

Gaius’ eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. So there went his ‘Gaius can fix this’ theory. There was a sniffle to his right, and Arthur turned to see Merlin resting his face miserably in his hands. “Merlin?” he asked tentatively.

For a long while, Merlin was silent, still hiding his face. Then, a drop of water slid through his fingers and splashed onto his trousers. Arthur felt his heart seize, without thinking, immediately threw himself onto the bench and gathered Merlin in a hug. As Merlin gave another sniff, but leaned into the embrace, Arthur was struck by his own uncharacteristically blatant display of affection. Even more shocking was that neither Gaius, nor Merlin, seemed the least bit surprised, though Arthur was certain that he had never actually hugged Merlin before. But at his action, the two seemed to relax slightly, as if this visceral reaction to Merlin’s tears was only to be expected.

Luckily, before Arthur was able to make the hug awkward, Merlin pulled away. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s just… Arthur, what you’re saying. It’s not real. Camelot’s a story. A legend. You know that, right?”

Arthur blanched. “Merlin, you’re enchanted, that’s what I’m trying to—”

“There’s no such thing as magic, Arthur!” Merlin cried. “It’s stories, it’s not real! You’ve hit your head or… or you’re ill,” he tried weakly. “Arthur, we have got to get you to A&E, there’s something seriously wrong. You’re having some sort of break from reality.”

Arthur’s jaw flapped uselessly as he stared from Merlin to Gaius. “I’m  _ not—”  _ he started, but Merlin interrupted with a shout.

“Your name is Arthur Pendragon! You’re 24 years old and you were born in Exeter! Your parents are Uther and Ygraine, who are  _ very much alive, _ and living in Cap-Martin. Spoilt as you are, you’re not  _ actually _ a king, you’re a law student ULaw London. You have a flat in Islington, which I moved into last year because we’ve been friends since sixth form, and together since uni when you finally got your frankly  _ enormous _ head out of your arse, and I’ve been telling you for  _ weeks _ that you’re working yourself too hard and  _ now look what’s happened!” _

Arthur watched wordlessly as Merlin heaved in heavy breaths, his face patchy and red, not knowing how to respond. Everything Merlin said was clearly wrong, and yet…

Somehow Arthur  _ remembered. _ He remembered getting Merlin as his college-assigned English tutor so he could pull up his grades and stay on the CSFC football team. He remembered how Merlin had shown up to the house party Arthur had only invited him to as a joke, looking so shy and uncertain that every single one of his teammates had been immediately endeared to the boy and shot Arthur a dirty look for even  _ thinking _ of teasing Merlin. And when, a few weeks later, at another after-game party, Merlin knowingly introduced his friend Gwen to a blushing, flustered Lance and then proceeded to excitedly talked Morgana’s ear off about how he wanted to become a veterinarian after uni, Arthur remembered how he fell a little bit in love.

He remembered Merlin convincing him to concentrate on civil liberties and human rights law, instead of business law like his father had wanted, and how his father, usually so unyielding, eventually accepted his choice, even telling Arthur that he admired him for standing by his convictions. And then, when Gwen and Lance had set a wedding date just a year into uni, Arthur remembered agonizing for months about whether Merlin would go with him until, a week or so before the wedding, he finally began stumbling through asking Merlin to go with him as, you know, a date, since they were both in the wedding party anyway, and wouldn’t it be stupid to go with someone else who would just be sitting at a different table all night because they’re  _ not _ in the wedding party, and besides, mates can be each other’s dates to weddings, it’s not that weird, and we get on really well, so it’s not like it’ll be awkward, so—  _ Merlin, stop it, why are you laughing? _ He remembered how, after Merlin had finally composed himself, he’d just shook his head fondly, told Arthur sternly to pick him up the morning of at half 7, and kissed him on the cheek before walking away, leaving Arthur flabbergasted. When the day came, for the first time in his life, Arthur remembered being early. And that was that.

He remembered Merlin’s pride when Arthur earned his law degree and entered his BPTC with a pupillage already secured, telling everyone at his veterinary nursing apprenticeship how smart Arthur was and how lucky he was to be with him. At his celebratory dinner that night, Arthur remembered asking Merlin to move in with him and squirming while Merlin painstakingly drew out the process of agreeing.

With a startling amount clarity, Arthur remembered the ring he had tucked away in his dresser. Merlin finished his training next month and they had a mini-holiday planned. Arthur remembered not knowing if he’d be able to wait that long.

In the space of about thirty seconds, Arthur felt an entirely new life hurtle into his memory and slip perfectly into place. It was  _ real, _ he could feel it, in every facet of his being. A quiet voice in the back of his mind reminded him kindly of Camelot, that Arthur knew better when it came to sorcery and its tricks, that this was all surely just an illusion.

Arthur looked at Merlin’s tearful face. Maybe, he thought. But even so, this Merlin was so desperate and afraid. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to fix that before finding a way back. Besides, this could be Camelot’s Merlin, trapped. He owed the man to at least be sure before leaving. And this world. It seemed peaceful.

A calm settled over Arthur as he made his decision and his new memories settled firmly into place. There were still some gaps, but Arthur was suddenly sure that they would be filled if he simply gave them time. Everything was fine, after all. 

Merlin and Gaius were still staring at him in open concern. 

“Merlin,” he started, trancelike. “I think I’ve been dreaming.”

A visible wave of relief washed over Merlin as the tension left his body. He threw his arms around Arthur’s neck and let out a long breath. The voice in Arthur’s head, screaming that he was succumbing to the enchantment, suddenly quieted. Everything was fine. Arthur was safe and happy and loved. 

He looked at Gaius over Merlin’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened,” Arthur continued. “It felt… It’s fading, but it still  _ feels _ real, somehow.”

Merlin pulled away and turned questioningly to Gaius, who sighed. “What do you remember from last night?” he asked again. 

“I was reviewing for the exam on Monday,” Arthur answered honestly, surprising himself at how clearly he could now remember something he was so sure twenty minutes ago was fabricated. “I was tired, but wanted to finish the module I was on. I think I gave up around three in the morning and went to bed.”

“And you haven’t had any accidents? No physical injuries?” Gaius was scrutinizing him closely, stepping forward to peer into his eyes.

“None,” Arthur confirmed.

Merlin spoke up from Arthur’s side. “So what caused it?” he asked. “Stress?”

Gaius made a noncommittal noise. “Possibly, but he should be taken to hospital and evaluated anyway. This confusion lasted much too long for my liking. If you give me a moment, I can take you there myself.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin, noticing, sagged in relief. “That’d be great, Gaius, thank you.” He turned to Arthur as Gaius left the room, reaching up to brush the fringe from Arthur’s eyes. “You sure you’re okay now?” he asked softly. It was the same look and tone as when he suggested Arthur call it a night after the coronation. It couldn’t be faked. It was quintessentially Merlin. Arthur smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m a bit fuzzy, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t mean to.”

Merlin grinned and gently rapped on Arthur’s head with his knuckles. “Figures you’d spend all that time being a jock only to have a mental breakdown from studying.”

“Oi,” Arthur exclaimed. “I’m perfectly intelligent, thank you very much.”

Merlin snorted. “Is that why you couldn’t remember how shirts worked this morning?” he asked wickedly.

Arthur placed a hand over his chest in mock outrage. “Excuse you, I was going through something  _ traumatic _ this morning. Besides,” he sniffed in what he hoped was a dignified manner. “I’m not sure what you mean. I dress myself impeccably.” Merlin simply laughed.

“Prat,” he said fondly.

Arthur gave a helpless sort of laugh and allowed his head to fall forward and rest on Merlin’s shoulder. In turn, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. They stayed silently in this position until Gaius returned, holding a set of car keys and giving a small cough to alert the pair to his presence. At the sound, they separated.

“Ready to go?” Gaius asked. Merlin glanced at Arthur, who nodded. Gaius gave a small smile and gestured towards the door. 

Once again, Merlin took Arthur’s hand in his own. With one final reassuring smile, Arthur followed Merlin and Gaius through the door, allowing it to close behind him with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s still a little slow-moving at this point, but we’ve got one more chapter in the modern era (because Gwaine), and then we’re back to Camelot, confusion, and some stuff from Merlin’s perspective, and then the story should move along a little faster from there. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for all your lovely comments and kudos! I’m thinking of keeping an every other week schedule for posting (maybe Saturdays?), but am completely open to suggestions from you guys! I’ve got a couple chapters written and ready to go at this point, but thought it might be better to keep ahead of what’s being posted, so I can keep to a regular posting schedule, rather than hitting a writer’s block and having no recovery time/leave you all hanging for a month. Any thoughts/preferences?


	4. Something as Simple as Your Usual

The doctor’s visit passed by for Arthur in a blur. The physician examining him, after checking all his faculties and putting him through an MRI, seemed to chalk the entire incident up to stress. A part of Arthur wanted to scream at her that she was just part of the sorcerer’s illusion, though that part of him was fading more and more by the minute, and by the time she was handing him a prescription for anxiety, it was barely a ringing in his ear, muffled by a lifetime of new memories.

“Now, this is only as needed,” the doctor said, referring to the prescription. “If you find you’re taking it every day, come back in and there’s something else I can give you. And take some time off after this weekend. At least two or three days. The front desk can print you a letter.”

Merlin, who’d accompanied Arthur into the examination room and had yet to let go of his hand, squeezed tighter and shot Arthur a relieved smile. “I’ll see to it,” he insisted, earning a somewhat doting smile from the doctor. Arthur supposed he could sympathize. 

Gaius, after confirming that Arthur’s diagnosis wasn’t serious and securing promises from Merlin and Arthur both that they would contact him immediately if anything changed, dropped them off at home, where Merlin immediately began buzzing about making tea and a late breakfast. Arthur, given free reign to do nothing for essentially the next week, collapsed on the couch and began sifting through the morning.

Earlier, he’d been convinced that he was the victim of a magical plot and that he was kind of a land of legend. And part of him… Arthur shifted uncomfortably as he realized that, even now, he didn’t truly believe that Camelot and his life there was just a dream. They were just… distant. Fuzzy. Like a past life. Perhaps he should have mentioned that to the doctor, instead of simply ignoring the voice in his head, but the voice was so distant and he’d been so overwhelmed, that the logical part of his brain seemed solely focused on Merlin’s hand in his.

The problem was that now, in his and Merlin’s cozy flat with the mix-matched furniture, surrounded by smiling photographs of his family and friends, and Merlin bustling in the background, bemoaning their lack of fresh lemons, Arthur was having difficulty finding the will to even want to leave. Vaguely, he recalled from the car rides to and from A&E, as well as the visit itself, anytime he  _ did  _ manage to build up a suitable panic, a new memory would drop into place, instantly calming him. Or Merlin would squeeze his hand just so, making everything feel less urgent. Like he should just stay in this haze and allow his memories of Camelot to become just that: memories. After all, came an unfamiliar, lilting voice in his ear, would staying really be so bad? He was happy here. Happy with his family all in one piece, happy with his friends…

Happy with Merlin.

In his Camelot memories, a relationship with Merlin beyond that of a master and servant was scarcely something that Arthur had ever allowed himself to think about. It had been trouble enough admitting he viewed Merlin as a friend. Anything more had been off limits. He supposed he had come to regard Merlin as attractive. He had certainly appreciated the blue of his eyes and how, when Camelot’s Merlin was tending to the fire in Arthur’s chambers, they would reflect the firelight and appear to glow gold, just for a moment. It was also common knowledge, Arthur knew, that his… “other self,” he supposed, held Merlin in a higher regard that was strictly appropriate for a servant, even if Merlin was personal servant to a king. 

But harboring a quiet affection and flaunting a romantic relationship, as he and Merlin did here in London, were worlds apart. They were both men, for one thing, and while Arthur had of course heard stories and rumors of men lying with other men, it wasn’t something held out in the open. But here, earlier the doctor hadn’t even batted an eye when she walked into Arthur’s room and saw he and Merlin holding hands. And even if Camelot  _ was _ accepting of such relationships, they certainly were not an option for Arthur, who was expected to marry a woman of noble birth and carry on the Pendragon line. Besides, he thought, the memory clawing at his chest, he couldn’t even be sure that Camelot’s Merlin felt the same way about him.

But here… Regardless of whether this world was the result of an enchantment, here he could be with— _ was with _ —Merlin openly. There were no expectations for him, or his kingdom, or his future line here. With his newly realized memories, he was  _ so sure _ that he could remain here and keep this life going. He could stay. He could let Camelot fade. The kingdom, if it were real, would be fine, surely. He hadn’t even been king that long—only a day. His uncle could handle it. There wasn’t really anything he was leaving behind. Except for… Except…

“Breakfast!” came Merlin’s happy shout from the kitchen.

Arthur felt his mind snap into focus. The fog lifted and he remembered. Merlin. Merlin was trapped here, too. For it  _ was  _ his Merlin. No enchantment could ever recreate him or his mannerisms so perfectly. And even if this Merlin  _ was _ somehow fake, then the real one was searching frantically for Arthur in Camelot. Which meant that Merlin was bound to stumble across the sorcerer responsible. Which meant Merlin was in danger. The whole kingdom was. Why else would he be trapped here, tucked out of the way, caught in an illusion? He had to get out. This world wasn’t  _ real,  _ he had to—

Merlin plopped next to him on the couch, holding two plates of food. “Here you go,” he said, pressing one into Arthur’s grip. “Although I guess we’re closer to lunchtime, now. But brunch is a thing, I suppose.”

Arthur immediately felt his panic subside as a hazy calm drifted over him once again. He was fine. He was right where he was supposed to be. There was no need to worry. It had all just been a bad dream. He was safe.

Arthur accepted his plate of pancakes.

Beside him, Merlin began chattering away. “The doctor wanted you to relax the next few days, so I’m instituting a law ban. No studying, no research, no reading the news—you know it only makes you angry—and I took the liberty of ringing your program lead. You have the week off.”

_ “Merlin!” _ Arthur sputtered, a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. “You can’t just tell them I’m a nutter and ask for time off for me!”

Merlin’s gaze was cool. “Should have known you were tapped out before. Doctor’s orders. Got you a note and everything. Even got myself the week to keep an eye on you.” He paused. “And I didn’t tell them you were a nutter. I just said I had to take you to hospital this morning and that you would need a few days. Gail at reception told me to tell you to feel better.”

Arthur stared at his plate for several moments. “You didn’t tell them?” he asked finally, feeling ashamed.

Merlin shook his head. “It’s your business. All they needed to know was that you were sick and need a few days to recover.”

With a sigh, Arthur leaned back into the couch. “I’m not crazy,” he said listlessly.

Merlin chuckled. “No you’re not.” He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “Just overworked and a little too motivated to save the world.”

Arthur shot him a grin and leaned forward, starting in again on his food. “So no studying, no law. What does that leave?” Merlin paused in his ministrations to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, nearly causing Arthur to spit out his food. “We can’t do that all day,” he laughed.

“Well, not with that attitude, we can’t!” Merlin cried, prompting a light shove from Arthur, the two dissolving into laughter. “Well, the park and museum are still on the table,” said Merlin after he had regained his composure. “Not sure a pub night is the best idea anymore, given the circumstances, but we can still get everyone together and order take-away if you’re up for it. Maybe watch a film?”

“You said the museum had a manga exhibit?” Merlin nodded and Arthur shoved one final bite into his mouth. “Nerd. Lead the way.”

Merlin’s grin was blinding. 

Hours later, the pair made their way back home. Everything had seemed to settle into place and, for the first time in recent memory—Camelot or otherwise—Arthur felt truly relaxed and at peace. There was a brief moment, upon exiting the special exhibit room and wandering the museum’s halls, when they stumbled upon some armor and Arthur felt his memories of Camelot explode in a vivid reality. But before he could even panic, Merlin’s hand was in his and the comforting haze fell back into place as Merlin gently guided him away, joking that “We’ve had quite enough of ‘King Arthur’ for one day, don’t you think?” He was right, of course. Arthur shouldn’t feed into his stress-induced dreams. Best to avoid the subject altogether. Besides, he was fine now. He was safe.

Sometime as they were getting ready to leave, Merlin had sent out a call-to-arms in their friends’ group chat, stating that Arthur had been ill earlier, so instead of meeting at the pub, the pair would be hosting a “QUIET, I swear to God, Gwaine, don’t you dare make this a Thing™” night in with fims and take away. In a separate message to Margana, who had begun to fret over Arthur being sick, Merlin had given a slightly more honest assessment of the morning, but, at Arthur’s insistence, stuck to the story that it had just been a particularly bad stress migraine.

Eventually, when his mobile began to ring, Merlin passed the device to Arthur with the air of someone staring down a fire-breathing dragon with no weapon. That is to say, with pure, adulterated panic.

“Please tell your sister you’re not dying,” he pleaded, blue eyes wide.

Arthur accepted the mobile with a roll of his eyes, not even thinking before swiping to accept the call. “Mor _ gana,” _ he answered, bracing himself to repeat that he was fine at least sixty times before she was satisfied.

As she began immediately peppering him with questions, a small portion in the back of Arthur’s mind was shocked by Morgana’s intense display of concern for her “baby brother,” but it was becoming easier and easier to write off these worries. He was safe, he thought as he squeezed Merlin’s hand and reassured his frantic sister. He was fine.

So it barely registered as a surprise when he and Merlin turned the corner onto their street only to see Morgana sitting on their stoop, wringing her hands in worry. She glanced at them accusingly as they approached and stood.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner!” Her voice was shrill as she stomped towards them.

“Good to see you, too, Morgana.” Arthur deadpanned. His sister ignored him and pointed her finger into Merlin’s chest.

“Arthur is one thing, but I expected better from you, Merlin!”

Merlin stared at the ground, ears burning, as he mumbled something about panicking and Gaius, which Morgana responded to with a shake of her elegant head, placing her hands on her hips.

“Yes, I spoke with Gaius while I was waiting for you.” Arthur stiffened, hoping Gaius didn’t tell her anything too detailed. But it looked like he was in luck as Morgana continued. “He told me to remind you to ring our parents and let them know what happened.” Not so lucky then. “I’m assuming  _ that _ slipped your mind as well?” She turned her blistering gaze onto Arthur, who tried not to flinch.

He felt sufficiently chided. It had. To be fair, when he woke up this morning, he had been under the impression that both his parents were dead and that Morgana would have liked nothing more than for the same to be true about Arthur himself. He decided not to mention that.

Instead, he opted for an apology. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I should have told you right when I got back from A&E. I’ll ring mum and dad first thing tomorrow, I promise. It was just… sort of a crazy morning. I’m sorry.”

Morgana’s expression softened and Arthur knew at once that he was forgiven. “Idiot,” she said, pulling him into a hug.  _ “Idiots,” _ she clarified, reaching for Merlin, as well. “You both  _ deserve _ each other.”

Over his sister’s head, Merlin smiled at him sheepishly. “C’mon,” he said as Morgana released them. “Let’s head up. The others’ll be here in an hour or so.”

As the trio made their way upstairs, Morgana, placated by Arthur’s apology, began twittering about a new designer the fashion label she worked for had recently hired and how poor Amelia at reception, bless her heart, was head over heels in love with her already. Arthur let Merlin take the lead and respond appropriately, while he separated himself to take a moment alone in the bathroom and splash some water on his face. Lifting his head from the sink, he did a double take.

His reflection was staring at him from the mirror.

Correction.

His reflection was  _ glaring _ at him from the mirror.

Arthur felt his jaw drop in shock and he leaned in to inspect his reflection, which now appeared to be silently yelling at him. Evidently frustrated that Arthur couldn’t hear him, the Arthur in the mirror angrily slammed his hands on the glass, still making no sound, but nonetheless causing Arthur to let out a startled yell and scramble backwards. Mirror-Arthur’s chest heaved and he continued to glare. 

A knock sounded at the door. “Arthur?” Merlin’s voice called. “Are you okay in there? We heard a shout.”

Arthur glanced back at the mirror, but was only met with his own expression: pale and shaking.

Merlin’s knock came again, more concerned. “Arthur?”

Thinking quickly and not quite wanting to get into what just happened when his sister was over, he grabbed a wad of toilet roll and crumbled it in his fist before opening the door to face Merlin. “I’m fine,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Sorry, there was a spider.” He held up the wad of tissue and made a bit of a show of tossing it into the toilet and flushing. “It dropped from the fixture and startled me.”

Merlin snorted and stepped aside so that Arthur could exit and follow him back down the hall to the living room. “Now who’s the wimp?”

In lieu of responding, Arthur smacked Merlin on the back of the head, prompting an indignant cry from the man and an eyeroll from Morgana, who was peeping her head out from the kitchen.

“Would it kill you two to behave?” she chastised, pulling menus from a drawer. “What are we having tonight?”

“Figured we’d take a poll when everyone got here,” Merlin said. “Unless you had something specific in mind?”

Arthur shook his head and Morgana groaned. “Oh, absolutely not, we’ll be here all night.” She shuffled through the stack of menus he and Merlin had accumulated over the last year. “We need to have something ready—Oh! How about Yipin? I’ve not had that in ages!”

Meeting each others’ eyes, Merlin gave a shrug and nodded. Arthur turned back to his sister. “Sure,” he said. “You’re in charge of collecting orders, then?”

Morgana passed him the menu. “Pick,” she said, grabbing a notebook and pencil.

Arthur gave the menu a cursory glance, but didn’t open it. He turned to Merlin. “The usual?” he asked. Watching Arthur carefully and still not appearing entirely convinced that Arthur was back to normal, Merlin gave a slow nod. Passing the still-unopened menu back to Morgana, he said, “Beef with pepper and the vegetarian Bear’s Paw, hold the mushrooms.” Proud grin in place, he turned back to Merlin. ‘You see,’ he tried to say without words. ‘Much better now. You can stop worrying.’

Before he could get a word out, however, Merlin crashed into him, collecting him in a tight hug and pressing his face into Arthur’s neck. Morgana politely began perusing the menu. “Glad you’re okay,” he mumbled.

Arthur allowed his head to fall onto Merlin’s shoulder as he returned the embrace. “Yeah, me too.”

After a moment, Merlin pulled away. His eyes looked a little red, but were mercifully dry. “C’mon Your Highness,” he said, chuckling slightly. “You pick the film.”

Forty-five minutes later, Gwen and Lance were the first to arrive. Gwen immediately placed her hand on Arthur’s forehead, asking if he was  _ absolutely sure _ having company wouldn’t be too overwhelming for him so soon.

“I was just stress-sick,” he insisted, giving her a hug. “This is apparently just what the doctor ordered for a minor nervous breakdown.”

Not easily swayed, Gwen shifted her concerned glance to Merlin, who held up his hands. “It’s true,” he said. “Doctor wanted him to take a few mental health days. You know, relax. See some friends.”

Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but Lance settled a hand on her shoulder. “Stop fretting, love,” he said. “Arthur’s not shy, he’d tell us if he wasn’t up for company.”

She gave a small sigh. “Oh, alright, but you tell me the second you feel tired. I remember that migraine you had before exams and you were sick for days after.”

Arthur held up his right hand. “I promise,” he said solemnly. 

“Besides,” Merlin piped up. “It’s just take away and a film. We’d be doing that anyway.”

Appeased, Gwen gave Merlin a brief peck on the cheek, then made her way inside to find Morgana. Lance clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “You will tell us, though? Right?” he asked under his breath. 

Feeling a surge of affection for his friend, Arthur laughed. “Promise.”

Over the course of the next hour, Arthur felt any lingering feeling of Camelot being anything other than a dream slip away as his friends filled his and Merlin’s tiny flat. Leon had shown up next, carrying a shopping bag full of crisps and a pack of playing cards.

“For when you pick Die Hard,” (Arthur had) “and the rest of us get bored.” (They never did).

Elyan and Percy had come next, carrying everyone’s take away orders between them, finally followed by Gwaine who, true to form, showed up wearing a onesie, hair in short pigtails, and insisting (loudly) that Arthur needed a quiet night in. Which perhaps could have still been achieved had he not also brought a large bottle of rum, which was quickly confiscated by Morgana.

“Honestly,” she hissed. “Would it kill you to tone down your ridiculous personality for  _ one night?” _

Gwaine clutched his chest in faux pain. “You wound me, Morgana. I’m simply brightening my dear friend’s day after a trying morning!”

Stowing the bottle on top of the cupboard, Morgana glared at Gwaine, who had collapsed on the couch, arm thrown lazily around Arthur’s neck. “You can have that back when you leave.”

“Aye,” he replied, unbothered. And then, in a conspiratorial whisper to Arthur that Morgana could almost certainly hear, “I think your sister likes me.”

“Oh yes,” Arthur replied dryly. “It’s obvious really. You should propose.”

“Our children would have glorious hair.”

“Assuming you could get that far without her murdering you.”

“You know what, fair.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting sober?”

“Six months next week,” Gwaine said, a proud tilt to his chin. “It’s filled with apple juice,” he added at Arthur’s questioning glance at the bottle Morgana had hidden. “I’ll tell everyone else once I get that far.”

Arthur grinned. “Good man.”

Gwaine returned the grin, then released Arthur in favor of accepting his container of food from Merlin, who settled on the floor between Arthur’s knees. By the time John McClane had arrived at Nakatomi Plaza, Arthur had already slid to the floor behind him, trapping Merlin in an embrace, head resting on his shoulder, food forgotten.

By half midnight, the group had worked their way through Die Hard and the first Paranormal Activity, and were about a quarter of the way through a comedy special when Arthur felt his eyelids drooping. Merlin had fallen asleep over an hour ago, lulled into slumber as Arthur threaded his fingers through his dark hair. Gwaine had claimed Arthur’s former spot on the couch and was snoring lightly. Gwen was curled up in the armchair, awake, but only just, as Morgana and Lance chatted quietly and Leon, Percy, and Elyan played a round of poker.

Noticing Arthur’s vacant gaze, Elyan reached over and nudged Morgana, looking pointedly at Arthur. Morgana’s eyes narrowed and Arthur, after a moment, gave a tired sort of smile and a nod. With a clap of her hands, Morgana stood.

“Alright,” she announced. “Everybody out. Arthur needs to sleep.” At the sound of Morgana’s clap, Gwen shook the sleep from her eyes and she and Lance began clearing the rubbish from the table. Merlin shifted against Arthur’s chest, but didn’t wake. Behind Arthur, Gwaine mumbled something incoherent, but didn’t otherwise move. Percy, who had stood to help with the clearing, paused before shrugging, picking up Gwaine, and carrying him to the kitchen.

“I’m clearing up the rubbish,” he explained, causing Gwaine, who had been startled awake when he was lifted, to give a cry of mock outrage, which turned genuine when Percy dropped him on the floor by the bin.

Chuckling, Arthur disentangled himself from Merlin, who still hadn’t woken during the commotion, and saw his friends to the door.

“Say goodbye to Merlin for us,” said Gwen, hugging him tightly. 

“I will,” Arthur promised. Behind him, Morgana pressed Gwaine’s rum bottle full of apple juice into his chest, lips pursed in annoyance.

Gwaine gave a salute and approached Arthur. “Mate,” he said seriously, despite still being clad in his unicorn onesie with one of his pigtails completely free and the other only half in. “Take it easy, alright? Take your full week off. Promise?” Arthur nodded and Gwaine’s face split into an infectious grin. “Brill,” he said, planting an enormous wet kiss to Arthur’s cheek. To Arthur’s right, he saw Morgana clap her hand to her face to hide her giggle. She only looked mildly horrified with herself when she noticed Arthur looking at her, which he supposed was an improvement. With a final wink, Gwaine was gone, leaving only Morgana in the entryway.

“Do you need help getting Merlin to bed?” she asked, eyeing the man in question who was still slumped in the living room.

“Nah, I can get him.”

“You’ll let me know if anything changes?”

“I will, I promise.”

Morgana eyed him closely before gathering him in a tight hug. “You better. Honestly, how did I end up with such an idiot for a brother?”

Returning the embrace, Arthur laughed. “Just lucky, I guess,” he replied. “And before you ask, yes, I’ll remember to ring mum and dad tomorrow.”

Morgana tapped his nose, causing him to scrunch it. “Good boy,” she said, moving out the door.

_ Well, _ Arthur thought, closing the door behind her,  _ this sure has been a day. _ He made his way back to the living room, all cleared now, and knelt beside a sleeping Merlin.

“Hey,” he said gently, tapping Merlin’s shoulder. “C’mon, time for bed.” Merlin mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, but didn’t wake until Arthur placed Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, slipped his own arm around Merlin’s waist, and hoisted him up.

“Wassit?” Merlin asked groggily.

“Bedtime,” Arthur replied, leading him down the hall.

Collapsing on the bed, Merlin snuggled into Arthur’s side and immediately fell back asleep. As his own eyes closed and he drifted off to join Merlin, Arthur thought he might just be the luckiest man in the world.

After all. He was fine. He was happy. He was safe.

He was right where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it figures that the first posting I have after deciding on a schedule is late but my excuse is that I’m in the middle of a move during a pandemic so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Life? Ya know? Ahhh, I have great timing. Anyway.
> 
> Next chapter is back in Camelot and is a little longer than the last few. I debated breaking it into two, but then they’d both be fairly short and it seemed silly to drag it out unnecessarily. I hope you’re all still enjoying this and that everyone’s hanging in there during quarantine!


	5. Snap Back to Reality

Sunday morning found Arthur with his head buried as deep as possible into his covers, in an effort to yet again block out the light streaming in through the window. He reached an arm out, meaning to secure it around Merlin’s waist to use him as an additional protective layer against the morning, but was met with only air. He let out a pathetic-sounding whine, even to his own ears, and called, muffled, through the pillows, _“Merlin!”_

A familiar snort of laughter came from behind him. “Someone’s finally up,” Merlin teased. Arthur heard footsteps approaching the bedside. “And it’s about time, too,” he admonished. “It’s nearly midday.” Arthur grumbled unintelligibly and flailed his arm against the mattress in an effort to latch onto Merlin and pull him back to bed, whatever errand he was apparently planning on running be damned. Instead of acquiescing, Merlin yanked the covers from over Arthur and placed a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. “Come on, lazy daisy. Up.”

Merlin made a move, as if to seize Arthur under the arms and drag him out of bed, but Arthur, determined to lounge the morning away, looped an arm around the man’s waist and, with a startled squawk from Merlin, pulled him tight to his chest. “Still sick,” he murmured, burrowing his face into Merlin’s hair. “Sleeping.”

Merlin stiffened, then gave an uncertain laugh. “Well, someone’s still half asleep,” he said, trying to wriggle out of Arthur’s grip, but Arthur only held tighter.

“Merlin,” he growled. “You promised me a weekend of lazing about and I actually agreed. No take backs.” He caught Merlin’s earlobe between his teeth and gave a soft bite, before pressing a kiss to his neck.

 _“Arthur, what the hell?!”_ Merlin shrieked, shoving Arthur away.

Bewildered, Arthur finally raised his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

_“What?_ It wasn’t that hard! Honestly Merlin, don’t be such a… girl…”

Merlin was looking at him in absolute shock, hand pressed to his neck, his complexion matching that of his ratty old neckerchief, in clothes that looked vaguely familiar. Almost the same as Merlin wore in that dream Arthur had about…

“Camelot!” Arthur exclaimed, looking around his chambers. “I’m—! We’re in Camelot!”

“Oh yes, well-spotted,” Merlin yelled, his voice several octaves higher than normal. “Care to explain why you were just molesting me?”

Arthur froze, dread filling him. “You don’t… remember?” he asked carefully.

“Remember _what?”_

Oh boy.

Arthur felt the déjà vu set in once again. “We were— you know, yesterday!”

Merlin blinked. “The coronation?”

“Yes—No! That was before. Then we were— But we’re back now.” Arthur finished helplessly. Merlin gave a croak, sounding like an incredulous, _‘Back?’_ as Arthur felt the reality of Camelot sink in.

Immediately, he was overcome with shame. He’d been so quick to write off Camelot— _his entire life_ —as a stress-induced dream. It was one hell of an enchantment.

His head snapped up. Merlin was regarding him with the same sort of hysteria as he had in their flat— _In the enchantment,_ Arthur corrected himself. He grimaced. Well, whoever the sorcerer was, they certainly had Merlin and his mannerisms down pat. While the flush had died down from his manservant’s face, he was still unconsciously holding his hand to the spot behind his ear. Right where Arthur had… 

“A dream!” Arthur shouted, in an attempt to cover up his own embarrassment. “I was having a dream.”

Merlin blanched. “A _dream?_ What the hell kind of dream were you _having?”_ Merlin’s face, which had been previously returning to its normal complexion, was rapidly reddening again. 

“No,” Arthur corrected, trying to hold onto as many details as he could of his experience. It was surprisingly easy. Easier than recalling Camelot had been. “Not a dream.”

Arthur pulled himself into an upright position, Merlin still staring at him like a deer caught in the headlamps. An expression, Arthur supposed, that meant nothing here. It was strange, he thought. But his flat in Islington felt more real to him now than Camelot had when he’d woken up in the flat. He felt oddly calm about that fact.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s tentative voice broke through the silence. Arthur had to keep himself from laughing at how familiar this utterly bizarre situation felt.

“Where was I last night? Just now?”

“Here,” Merlin responded immediately, fingers finally slipping from his jaw. “I got here a little before you woke up to set down breakfast. You were just… sleeping. Like you always are. Arthur, are you okay?”

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, “Did anyone come in or out?” he asked, ignoring Merlin’s previous question.

“The guards were posted outside all night, they would have said. Seriously Arthur. What’s going on?”

“I… I was—there was, I can’t...” Arthur dragged his hands through his hair, growling in frustration.

Merlin took a timid step towards him. “A nightmare?” he tried, sitting on the side of the bed. 

“No, it… Merlin, it was _real.”_ Refusing to look up, Arthur continued. “I went to sleep last night after the coronation, but when I woke up, I was in— There was this whole other world. Wherever it was, it was nothing like Camelot. It was like no place I’ve ever seen before. But it was _real.”_ he paused, shame creeping into his tone. “It made me forget.”

“Forget?” Merlin echoed. “Forget what?”

“Camelot.” Arthur heard his own voice crack. “It was like _Camelot_ wasn’t real. And every time I tried to think about it, it would just… slip away. Like I was trapped.” _And I_ liked _it,_ Arthur thought. _I never wanted to leave._

Arthur felt a hand on his knee and finally turned to look Merlin in the eye. “Arthur,” he started carefully, “it really sounds like you had a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t,” he snapped. “It was an enchantment.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “An enchantment? But how? Who?”

“If I knew that, I’d be going after the culprit, wouldn’t I?” he responded dryly.

“I just mean… How can you be so sure? I’m not doubting you,” he said quickly, when Arthur began to glare. “It’s just, well, you’re under a tremendous amount of pressure and with everything going on… Only, you know, dreams can seem real, even after you’ve woken up! I once dreamt that you were going into a battle, but instead of your sword, I accidentally gave you a broom because I wasn’t done sharpening it yet, only you were too empty-headed to notice, so you went charging in anyway and were going to get skewered. I woke up and was halfway to the armory before I realized it wasn’t real.”

Arthur very much wanted to hit Merlin.

“I’m just saying,” Merlin continued. “Whatever it was, you were here the whole night. It was probably just a—”

“It was _not_ a dream!”

“Alright, alright, it wasn’t a dream!” The hand retracted from Arthur’s knee and he tried not to notice the acute loss of warmth. “So this other world… What was it like?”

Arthur paused. How did he begin to describe the future—if that’s even what the enchanted world was—to someone like Merlin, who always seemed as though he had difficulty comprehending the here and now? But his manservant was just looking at him, a familiar earnest expression on his face that was probably more comforting that Merlin would ever know. Arthur took a breath.

“It was, well, the future.”

Merlin blinked. “The… future.” Arthur nodded mutely.

“We were… there was a city—London—and we lived there. Had a flat and everything. There were cars—sort of horseless carriages—huge buildings made of glass and metal, and just people _everywhere._ And everyone we knew was there, the knights, Guinevere, Gaius,” he paused again, then added, softly, “Morgana, both my parents… But we weren’t— I wasn’t… We were just people, no titles, no nothing. We… We had a red door.” Arthur felt his eyes begin to burn. “We were happy.”

Merlin was silent for a moment. Then, perhaps when he was sure Arthur was not going to continue, asked softly, “So what was the problem?”

Arthur raked his fingers through his hair. “It was… I don’t know, too perfect. It was wrong. When I awoke, I had no idea where I was. All I could think about was Camelot, but you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter what I said. It was the same when you brought me to Gaius. You both thought I was going mad. But then, it was like… Everything fell into place. Like a whole life’s worth of memories dropped into my mind. And Camelot sort of… drifted away. Every time I thought about going back, every time I realized that we were trapped, it was like being in a trance. I tried, and I knew I was trying, but even when I could remember, it was like I couldn’t bring myself to care. There was this mirror. My reflection was _so angry._ It tried to wake me up but I just…” he trailed off, looking at Merlin helplessly. “I thought for sure… You really weren’t trapped in there with me?”

Merlin shook his head. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” he admitted. “But I would have remembered something like that.” 

Neither said anything for a stretch. Finally, Arthur voiced the concern that had been at the back of his mind since he woke up in London. “Do you… Do you think it could be Morgana?”

“Morgana?” Merlin blinked. “How do you mean?”

“That world. The enchantment. Do you think she did that to me? To, I don’t know, distract me?”

Merlin shifted his gaze to his hands. Arthur got the distinct impression that his manservant was considering his next words carefully. 

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “What would be the point? Keeping you in an illusion for one night? I mean, you went to sleep and woke up. You weren’t actually trapped, you’re just a little shook up. It doesn’t seem worth it.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. _“Merlin,”_ he started. “It sounds suspiciously like you’re going to accuse me of dreaming again.”

“I mean, it seems the sort of thing you’d dream of anyway,” Merlin cried, exasperated. “You’re stressed! Of course you’d dream about having a simple life with your family and friends all together. Why are you so convinced it was an enchantment?”

“Why are you so convinced that it wasn’t?” Arthur shot back.

Merlin pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. 

“Look,” Arthur shook his head. “I can’t really explain it, but I know it wasn’t a dream. It was too coherent. I just… I need you to trust me on this.”

Merlin’s expression softened. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, so what do we do?”

With the amount of déjà vu Arthur was experiencing, he supposed adding one more thing to the list wouldn’t hurt. “Gaius,” he decided. “Maybe he’ll have an idea.” Merlin nodded. His face was determined, set the same way it had been before they had faced off the Great Dragon and Arthur had to laugh. “Suppose you always have been the ride or die type.” Merlin blinked and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“The… the what?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing, let’s go.”

* * *

Having a clear memory of both Camelot and London, Arthur thought (mistakenly), should make this version of his conversation with Gaius much easier. But mostly it just made Gaius stare at him as though he’d just announced that it was his lifelong ambition to join the circus as a clown. Camelot had circuses, right? His worlds were starting to blend together a bit. He wondered how long it would be before that got him into trouble.

“And we were all a part of this enchantment?” Gaius asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Yes,” Arthur replied impatiently, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms. “But you had no memories of Camelot. It was like it was only a story to you.” After a pause, he added: “And to me, after a while.”

“Yes,” Gaius murmured to himself. “The fact that you seemingly lost your memory and had it replaced is troubling…”

“But you fought it,” Merlin, who’d been oddly quiet up until now, piped up. “That’s what mirror-Arthur was, right?”

Gaius hummed in agreement. “What concerns me is that it happened _when_ it did.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, brow creasing.

The physician studied Arthur carefully for a moment, as if trying to prejudge his reaction. “You said your memories of this enchanted world only came to you at a time when you were becoming increasingly distressed?” Arthur nodded, but it seemed to do little to ease Gaius’ mind. If anything, he only looked more troubled. “And anytime you felt memories of Camelot returning, you would panic?”

“Yes, but then it would fade. Something would fall into place and I’d just feel…” Safe, happy, loved. “Calm. Is that important?”

“It certainly is concerning,” Gaius sighed. “At any rate, it makes it less likely that this was simply a dream. It would tend to show that the sorcerer had some way of maintaining the illusion and manipulating what you saw without being physically present.”

“Morgana was there,” Merlin pointed out. “At least, she was in your dream. She’s certainly powerful enough to do something like this, especially if she has Morgause to help her.” 

Gaius made a noncommittal noise and began pacing. “This doesn’t seem like Morgana. If there’s anything that we’ve learnt since her departure, it’s that she wants you to suffer at her hand and that she wants you to be aware that she’s the cause. No, this is something else. Whoever this was went to great lengths to keep you comfortable. When they realized your distress, they appeared to have made adjustments to their enchantment, causing your ignorance of Camelot as anything more than a fable.” Gaius paused and studied Arthur curiously. “You said both your mother and father were still alive?”

Arthur nodded, his throat suddenly tight. He had been supposed to ring them this morning. He would have liked to have video chatted. Just to see their faces. It was impossible now—he’d missed his chance.

“And Morgana was my sister—my full sister, I mean. We were close, apparently.”

Gaius hummed absently and resumed his pacing. “And the Knights?”

“Friends. We were all just… normal people.”

Merlin scoffed from his place on the bench. “Figures,” he grumbled. “You all get to have nice little lives and what’s good old Merlin up to? Still cleaning up after this prat.”

Arthur schooled his face into a neutral expression and attempted to ignore the embarrassed heat crawling up his neck. In his initial retelling of the illusion to Gaius, as Arthur had recounted his relationships with everyone, Merlin had innocently asked what his role had been. Arthur had immediately visualized their shared bed, the easy touches, and casual kisses the two had shared just in his dream alone, though his “memories” of the enchanted world had shown that they had gone _much_ further than those chaste touches. In a fit of panic, Arthur had all but shouted that Merlin had still been his good-for-nothing servant who lived in the next room. With his own bed.

Obviously.

Merlin had been moping ever since.

“Well everything else was so perfect, perhaps the sorcerer thought I’d need at least one source of incompetence to maintain believability,” Arthur said dryly, hoping the remark was insensitive enough to prompt a rant on Merlin’s part on Arthur’s own entitlement to change the subject, but not so much that Merlin would be genuinely offended.

Merlin’s head whipped up to face Arthur, mouth open about to respond. But then his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, and he turned his head away so that he was now glaring at the wall. Arthur winced. Too far, then.

“You weren’t really—I mean,” he began awkwardly. “It was really more of a… flatmate situation.”

Merlin looked back at him, expression bemused. “Flat mate?” he asked.

“When people live together to, you know, save money on expenses.” Arthur could see the question forming on Merlin’s lips and hurried on, feeling it was likely that his face currently matched the red of his tunic. “It was normal there, even if you had money. You just… lived with your friends,” he finished lamely, swearing internally that Gaius had just rolled his eyes. 

Merlin stared at him. “So we _were_ friends.”

Arthur’s face was a beacon of heat. His tunic must be positively pink in comparison. “You still did all the chores,” he insisted petulantly. “But I… helped sometimes.”

Merlin snorted, but seemed placated, a small smile on his face. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that went over well.”

“Like a lead balloon, usually,” Arthur agreed.

A quizzical expression crossed Merlin’s face, but he was cut off by Gaius, who, it seemed, had finally heard enough of Arthur’s emotional fumbling. _“My point being,”_ he chastised, “that this sorcerer is powerful enough to remove your memories at the first sign of discomfort in order to keep you happy and trapped, but what we don’t know is _why.”_

“Except they let Arthur go,” Merlin pointed out. “He went to sleep in the illusion and then woke up here like normal. He didn’t lose any time, he’s just… acting weirder than usual.”

“Oi!” Arthur exclaimed. “I’m not acting weird!”

Merlin raised an eyebrow in a stunning channel of Gaius. “You called that flagstone you tripped over on the way here a ‘biphobic piece of shit,’ whatever that means” he said, counting off his fingers. Arthur felt his face flush yet again and was grateful that Merlin had yet to ask for clarification on that particular term. “You thought we should ‘goople’—”

“—Google—”

“—your symptoms, just talked about whatever a ‘lead balloon’ is, and then, of course, when I tried to wake you up this morning, you—”

 _“—Yes, alright, thank you, Merlin,_ we get it,” Arthur ground out, hoping Gaius wouldn’t ask. He'd already avoided discussing _that_ particular incident with Gaius in his initial retelling, much to Merlin's consternation, and didn't think he could push his luck much further. If only Merlin would just let it _go_. “So what do we do? Why would the sorcerer let me wake up, rather than keep me trapped?”

Gaius was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But we should start by searching your chambers for magical artifacts.”

* * *

Three hours later saw Arthur’s chambers turned upside down, but with no sign of any sort of spell, much to the chagrin of Gaius.

“I just don’t understand it,” he admitted, slumping down into a chair at Arthur’s table. “There has to be something, somewhere.”

Merlin gave a frustrated exhale through his nose. “We’ve searched everything. _Someone_ even cut open the pillows and mattress.” He glared at Arthur, who averted his eyes innocently. And indeed there was a large gash along the seam of Arthur’s bedding. Even the poor Lady Winnifred had been carefully examined, much to Arthur’s concern. He’d never admit it, but he rather liked the misshapen doll.

Arthur, who had long since given up looking in favor of delegating, stated matter-of-factly: “Which you’ll be repairing, of course.”

Merlin waved him off and flopped backwards onto Arthur’s destroyed bed, as usual uncaring of the fact that Arthur was the _king_ and could theoretically have Merlin _flogged_ for such impudence. “There’s _nothing,_ Gaius.”

“Arthur, the Council is— Oh. Am I… interrupting something?”

Arthur glanced up to meet the eyes of his uncle, who was now standing in the doorway, surveying Arthur’s chaotic chambers with befuddlement and the barest hint of distaste. To Arthur’s right, he saw Merlin stiffen on the bed, no doubt finally aware of the absurd amount of leniency Arthur was affording him, and scramble to stand.

“Uncle,” he said, making his way across the room. “I apologize for the mess. I… seem to have misplaced a key.”

“Misplaced… a key,” Agravaine repeated slowly, eyes now sliding around the room in suspicion, landing on the gashed bed.

“Was there something you needed, Uncle?” Arthur asked quickly, shifting to block the man’s view.

Agravaine blinked, then gave his nephew a diplomatic smile. “The Council is convened in the throne room. We expected you sometime ago, but of course, with yesterday’s events, if you’re still not ready—”

“Nonsense,” Arthur interjected, clapping his uncle on the shoulder in an effort to lead him out of the room. “I simply lost track of time.”

Agravaine raised an eyebrow. “And your key, sire?”

“Key?” Arthur blinked

“You said you’d lost a key. Don’t you need it?”

“Oh! Right. Well, I—”

“Found it!”

Arthur turned as Merlin hurried towards him, thrusting his key ring into his hands.

“Already back in your key ring, sire. It was behind the headboard.”

Arthur smiled gratefully before forcing his expression to become stern. “Right. Thank you, Merlin. I expect all this to be cleaned up by the session’s end.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin replied with a short bow and a smirk. Glancing up at Arthur through his dark lashes, his expression was overall fey-like and mischievous. It was an expression Merlin often wore, both in Camelot and in Arthur’s dream, except that in London, that expression was almost always immediately followed by trousers being removed and, well…

Arthur supposed he should be impressed that his face still had the ability to flush as red as it did when it seemed that most of his blood was heading in the opposite direction.

“Right,” he sputtered, turning suddenly, seizing his rather surprised uncle, and shoving him through the doorway. “Well, mustn’t keep the Council waiting any longer. Gaius! Make sure Merlin doesn’t burn the castle down during the meeting.”

Making sure that the door closed behind him, Arthur barreled down the corridor, face still burning, with his uncle struggling to keep up. If Merlin gave him another look like _that,_ he didn’t think he’d be able to keep up his platonic charade for much longer.

* * *

Merlin watched Arthur’s abrupt exit with a bemused expression. After a moment, he turned to Gaius, who appeared equally perplexed, his eyebrow raised.

“That was… odd, right? It’s not just me?”

Gaius nodded slowly. “Yes, that certainly was odd behavior. Arthur may be more unsettled by this enchantment than he originally let on. There’s something a bit… off.”

Merlin dropped unceremoniously into the chair across from Gaius. “I’ll say,” he groaned. “And that wasn’t even half as strange as he was when I went to wake him up this morning.”

Gaius frowned and leaned forward in his chair. “This is the third time you’ve mentioned that. Care to elaborate? Now that Arthur isn’t here to cut you off?” Merlin mumbled something incoherently, toying with the frayed hem of his tunic and Gaius’ expression quickly turned exasperated. “Speak up, Merlin. You know very well I didn’t get a word of that.”

“I said he kissed me!” Merlin burst out, ears burning.

Gaius’ eyes widened and his mouth dangled open.

“You’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that,” Merlin commented dryly.

Gaius clamped his mouth shut and furrowed his brow, which, in Merlin’s opinion, wasn’t much of an improvement. “Tell me what happened.”

Merlin immediately launched into his own explanation of the morning, removing himself from his seat and flapping his hands as he paced, detailing how Arthur had pulled him into an embrace, kissed him, and _‘bit my_ ear, _Gaius!,’_ barely stopping to take a breath. “And then,” he cried, “after that, he looks at _me_ like _I’m_ the one that’s going mad. Like it’s completely _normal_ for him to pull me into bed and— You know!” Merlin could feel his face burning and distantly wondered if Gaius could tell that he was overplaying his indignation. Probably. There wasn’t much Merlin had ever been able to successfully lie to his guardian about, so he had mostly avoided mentioning anything to Gaius even remotely connected to his attraction to Arthur. Definitely not that he’d been harboring said feelings for years now. Still, given the soft, slightly pitying expression Gaius was currently wearing, Merlin suspected he hadn’t been subtle enough.

Thankfully, Gaius seemed to decide that Merlin’s denial could be dealt with at a later date. “And you’re sure he… knew it was you?” he asked, not unkindly.

Merlin nodded. “Definitely,” he said. “He… He said my name. Several times. He _definitely_ knew it was me.” For the briefest moment, Merlin had been able to pretend; he’d been given a brief glimpse into the life he lulled himself to sleep fantasizing about before it was snatched away. “He didn’t even seem surprised. He was more shocked that he woke up in Camelot than that he kissed me. And now he’s just ignoring it,” he finished miserably, looking resolutely out the window and into the courtyard.

Crossing the room, Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Merlin shot his guardian and mentor a grateful smile and watched as Gaius turned to survey the room. “You don’t detect any enchantments or magical artifacts in here, do you?” he asked, sounding defeated.

Merlin focused his magic and sent out an inquisitive pulse, his eyes flaring gold. “No,” he said after a moment. “There’s nothing. Just me. As usual,” he grumbled. “I guess there’s no chance it was just a very realistic dream?”

Gaius started a moment then sighed. “I suppose it’s possible. It just seemed a bit…”

“Too coherent,” Merlin finished and was met with a decisive nod. 

“It’s the memory loss and replacement that has me worried. And the apparition in the mirror tends to suggest that Arthur’s subconscious was in considerable distress. He was clearly fighting back against _something.”_

“But why let him go?” Merlin echoed his earlier question. “Why let him wake up in his bed when they could have just kept him trapped? All that did was tip us off that something was wrong. Unless they weren’t powerful enough to keep the illusion going?”

“I don’t know, Merlin,” Gaius admitted. “Hopefully we have time to figure it out.” He glanced around the room. “Although it would seem that you’ll have your work cut out for you if you’re to clean this up before the Council meeting is over. _Without_ your gifts,” he added pointedly.

Merlin groaned. “I can’t believe he tore up the mattress. Prat.” Gaius gave a short laugh, then headed towards the door. “You're not going to help me?” Merlin cried, scandalized.

Though his face and voice was stern, there was a smile in Gaius’ eyes. “Of course not,” he admonished, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “I have to research distance spell-casting and how it works when there’s no apparent anchoring artifact.” 

And with that, Gaius strode out of the king’s chambers, leaving Merlin sputtering in the middle of the wreckage. _Well,_ Merlin thought, _at least I can sneak_ some _magical repairs if Gaius is away._

* * *

After what felt like hours, Arthur finally managed to disentangle himself from his uncle and the rest of the Council and their discussions about transitions of power, taxes, and grain stores, and made his way back to his chambers, determined to collapse on his bed and not move until morning. He hoped that Merlin had at least had the foresight to mend his bed first and not leave it until the end. Having prepared himself for a night surrounded by his destroyed chambers, Arthur wondered if he was hallucinating when he opened his door and, rather than seeing a mess, instead saw Merlin carefully setting a plate of food on the table. The otherwise _clear_ table. In his completely tidy quarters.

“You’ve finished,” Arthur said, somewhat incredulously.

Merlin jumped slightly, as if he’d been on edge since Arthur left, but relaxed when he saw who had interrupted. “Dinner’s ready,” he said, in lieu of an explanation for his sudden adeptness at cleaning.

Arthur’s stomach let out an involuntary rumble as he realized that he hadn’t eaten since a few measly pieces of bread in Gaius’ quarters earlier that morning. He sank gratefully into his chair. 

“How the hell did you manage to get my chambers in order so quickly?” he asked through a mouthful of venison.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re eating that food or inhaling it.”

Arthur swallowed. “Merlin, stop mothering me and answer the question. You didn’t rope Guinevere into doing it, did you?”

“I did _not,”_ Merlin sniffed, offended. “I tidied up on my own, same as always. I just didn’t have a certain royal nuisance distracting me all day.”

“I can have you thrown in the stocks for that,” said Arthur without much conviction. He was likewise met with a scoff from his manservant. 

“That’ll be the day. If you really didn’t want me insulting you, you’d have executed me by now.”

Skewering a parsnip with his fork, Arthur smiled. “There’s still some time yet.”

“Whatever you say, sire.”

Arthur finished the rest of his meal in relative silence, watching his manservant out of the corner of his eye as Merlin bustled about the room, securing Arthur’s bedclothes and pulling the blankets back from the newly-repaired bed. Satisfied that Merlin was otherwise occupied, Arthur turned from his plate to watch the man more fully. He was absently humming an unfamiliar tune as he fussed with Arthur’s pillows and Arthur was struck suddenly by how pleasant the sound was. He had a vague recollection of the Merlin from his dream world singing in the shower and wondered if this Merlin sounded as good. He couldn’t remember ever hearing this Merlin sing and opened his mouth to ask, but quickly snapped it shut. It would be a strange question to ask, wouldn’t it?

Although, Arthur thought, all things considered, he’d always shared an easy and open relationship with Merlin. Despite his multiple claims to the contrary, Merlin was perhaps the person who knew Arthur best in the world. So why did their relationship feel so awkward to him now?

But that question could be answered rather quickly. Arthur’s damned dream had given him a glimpse, the briefest taste, of everything Arthur had ever wished they could be. After that, it was near impossible for Arthur to continue denying his feelings for the man and it was all he could do to keep himself from pulling Merlin close and burying his face into that stupid neckerchief. He could remember the feel of Merlin falling asleep in his lap and wondered if it were possible to feel homesick for a place that didn’t truly exist. Arthur turned back to the table and began to moodily push around the scraps of food still on his plate with his fork, suddenly overcome with a desire for Merlin’s lemon pancakes and ridiculous tofu bacon.

A deliberate cough interrupted Arthur’s musings of whether or not he could reverse engineer the recipe—did Camelot even grow lemons? He couldn't remember—and he glanced up to see Merlin treating him to his best impression of Gaius’ disapproving stare.

“Are you eating that or playing with it?” he asked. Arthur glared, but gestured at Merlin to clear the plate, stepping aside and stretching. As Merlin continued to work, Arthur ambled over to where Merlin had laid out his nightclothes and began to change. Merlin let out a sputtering sound. “Oh, so you _can_ dress yourself after all? Good to know.”

In a flagrant bout of immaturity, Arthur made a series of high pitched mimicking noises while continuing to pull his white nightshirt over his head, then collapsed on his bed, hand held aloft and making flapping motions.

Merlin didn’t seem surprised by the response and simply rolled his eyes. Vaguely, Arthur wondered whether or not he should be offended that Merlin seemed to expect this type of behavior from him, but the notion quickly dissipated as Merlin appeared at his side and ushered Arthur under the covers, strangely silent.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Reckon I’ll wake up in that place again?”

Merlin didn’t answer at first, but began nervously straightening the blankets around Arthur. “Would you realize if you did?” he asked finally, this time leaving Arthur at a loss for words. He didn’t think Merlin noticed, though, having fallen into the comfortable routine of inane nervous chatter. “I mean, you remembered at first last time, but maybe now the sorcerer knows and will start you off clueless. Well, more so than you usually are. Your mirror self seemed smarter. I hope he’ll be there. Maybe we should give you some kind of anchor to Camelot—Oh! I know!”

Merlin fumbled at Arthur’s bedside table, emerging triumphant with Lady Winnifred in his hands. “Here you go, good as new! Lady Winnifred will protect you.”

“Thanks,” Arthur deadpanned, contemplating the merits of whipping the doll at Merlin’s head.

At his expression, Merlin cracked a genuine, albeit small, smile. “You’ll be okay, yeah?” he asked tentatively.

Arthur scoffed. “I can take a cowardly sorcerer like this in my sleep,” he said giving Merlin a pointed grin, which was met with a groan of exasperation. “I’ll be fine,” he said gently, placing the doll carefully on the pillow beside him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right,” Merlin replied quietly. “Of course. Good night, sire.”

Arthur’s reply didn’t come until after Merlin had extinguished the candles and made his way to the door.

“Good night, Merlin.”

* * *

The next morning, Arthur awoke to a finger gently tracing up and down the hard line of his nose. A wonderful calm washed over him as he stared into a pair of impossibly blue eyes.

“Morning,” Merlin said, stopping his ministrations and shooting Arthur a cheeky grin.

Arthur huffed out a laugh and grinned, pulling Merlin into an embrace and burying his face in his neck as the sounds of a slowly-waking London drifted in through the window.

"Morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it figures that as soon as I set a schedule for myself, I suddenly can’t keep to it. In my defense, I was moving house about 500 miles away during a pandemic? I’m mostly settled now, but while I'll do my best to have the next bit up in two weeks, it may be closer to three, as my job's kicking up again. On the other hand, they warned us we might be furloughed until next year, so who knows, I may end up with some more free time. 🙃 Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this so far and to everyone just tuning in now! You guys are the best! 💖


	6. Mother Knows Best

The morning passed largely without incident. Aside from Merlin’s initial question of, “So… how are you feeling?” he’d kept his nervous hovering to a minimum, for which Arthur was grateful. Honestly, a man has one nervous breakdown and was suddenly made of glass. 

Overwhelmed by a sudden craving, Arthur insisted that Merlin teach him to make lemon pancakes. Which had gone about as well as could be expected.

“Um,” said Merlin, trying to hide his laugh. “You’ve got a bit of, erm, everything… just there.”

Arthur glared through his batter-soaked fringe. The electric mixer had not been his friend. “Yes, thank you _Mer_ lin, I hadn’t noticed.”

Merlin sniggered, but at least had the decency to hide his smile behind his hand. “Tell you what,” he offered, gently taking the mixer from Arthur’s grasp. “Why don’t you clean yourself up and ring your parents. I’ll finish up in here.”

Arthur nodded reluctantly and surrendered the mixer, still unsure where his sudden desire to learn to cook had sprung from. He gave Merlin a fond smile and contemplated smearing his batter-covered hands along the sleeve of the hoodie Merlin had donned, but thought better of it. Merlin’s shocked cry of outrage might be hilarious, but he would probably refuse to finish making the pancakes, regardless of how much Arthur pouted. Plus, Arthur was pretty sure that it was his hoodie Merlin had stolen anyway. No sense in mucking up his own clothes.

Instead, Arthur made his way to the bathroom, where he carefully separated himself from his shirt and started up the shower, catching a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror. For a curious moment, Arthur could have sworn his reflection was rolling its eyes at him. But the feeling passed with a shake of his head.

Without removing his plaid pajama bottoms, or even stepping fully into the shower, Arthur stuck his head under the spray and quickly rinsed out the batter, deciding that he could take a proper shower later. Preferably one with Merlin in it. Once he was satisfied that he’d rinsed out all the gunk, Arthur twisted the handle to the off position, rubbed a towel through his hair, and made his way back to his and Merlin’s shared bedroom, reflection already forgotten.

Making a brief detour to pull a clean shirt from his wardrobe, Arthur grabbed his mobile off the nightstand, collapsed backwards onto the bed, and absently scrolled through his contacts until he found ‘Mum and Dad - Cap-Martin.’ 

His finger hovered over the call button and, at the last minute, decided to tap ‘FaceTime’ instead. As it rang, Arthur wondered belatedly what he would say. He’d promised Morgana to tell them what happened, but somehow he didn’t think _‘Hey Mum. Dad. Just ringing to let you know I had a complete break from reality yesterday and insisted that I was a dead, legendary Welsh king. Fine now though. Also, I told Morgana it was a migraine. Okay, love you. Bye.’_ would go over too well. The ringing stopped and his mother’s forehead filled his screen.

“Hello? Arthur?”

Arthur’s return greeting froze in his throat. His eyes suddenly, inexplicably, filled with tears. There was only one thing Arthur Pendragon wanted in that moment, and it was to be wrapped up in his slight mother’s deceptively strong embrace.

“Honey? Is that you? Can you see me?”

Arthur gave a desperate sort of laugh, before clearing his throat. “Yeah Mum, I can see you,” he said, voice cracking. “You have to move back from the camera, though. It’s all your forehead.”

Ygraine took a step back, allowing Arthur to see the sunlit parlor which was positively dim compared to his mother’s blinding smile. “Hello, sweetheart!”

Sniffing, and trying to subtly wipe at his eyes, Arthur returned the grin. “Hi, Mum.”

Immediately, his mother’s face grew concerned. “Arthur? Is everything okay?”

Arthur wondered why he couldn’t seem to stop tearing up. “Yeah, I’m— Sorry, not sure where this is coming from. I’m fine. It’s just been sort of a weird last day or so.”

Ygraine made a cooing noise. “You work too hard, darling,” she said. “Last time I spoke with Merlin, he said you were still falling asleep at your desk studying.”

Arthur felt his face flush. “Mum, would you stop spying on me via my boyfriend?”

His mother rolled her eyes and waved off his request. “I wouldn’t have to if you kept me properly updated.” She gave her son a pointed look.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m taking a Merlin-mandated holiday this week.”

Ygraine brightened. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed. “How did he manage that?”

“Well,” Arthur started, knowing very well he was about to rip off the plaster. “It’s really doctor-mandated. Merlin and Gaius sort of had to take me to hospital yesterday?”

_“What?! Yesterday?”_

Arthur winced.

 _“Arthur Pendragon,_ why on _earth_ did you not call us immediately?”

“Mum—”

“What happened? Are you alright? Should we get on a flight?”

_“Mum—”_

“— _just_ like your father, I’m always the last to know— _Uther! Get down here!”_

“Mum!” he yelled, finally.

Ygraine turned back to Arthur from shouting up the stairs for his father and glared. “Do _not_ raise your voice at me, young man.”

“Sorry, Mum,” he supplied meekly.

A worried look overcame his mother’s face and she opened her mouth, no doubt to elicit exactly what happened when his father’s voice called from offscreen.

“Ygraine? What is it? What’s wrong?” Uther Pendragon appeared suddenly behind his wife, eyes scanning the room from behind wire-framed glasses and landing on the image of Arthur on the screen. “Arthur?”

 _“Your son,”_ Ygraine began pointedly, “was in hospital yesterday.”

Uther blinked. “What? Why?” Both his parents turned their attention to Arthur, who was currently regretting his decision to FaceTime his parents, rather than just calling. You don’t have to mind your expressions during phone calls. Stupid.

“I’m okay now,” he tried. “The doctor thinks it was just stress.”

His mother’s face crumpled in worry, her leg bouncing up and down, and his father echoed her earlier question: “Do you need us to come back to England?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m fine, really, you don’t need to come back.” His father, head of his own corporate law firm, had recently surprised his mother by purchasing a villa in the South of France in celebration of the couple’s 30th wedding anniversary. He and Ygraine were barely two weeks into their first extended holiday since Arthur and Morgana were children and Arthur was determined to not be the reason they came home early.

Uther took a seat next to his wife, placing a hand on her jittering leg. “What happened?” he asked calmly.

Shifting uncomfortably, Arthur wondered if there was a way to phrase what happened without causing his mother to have a panic attack. Probably not. 

“Well, we told Morgana it was a stress migraine…”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “But?”

Arthur winced. “I want to reiterate that I’m fine now.”

“Arthur,” his father started, warningly.

“I may have had a slight nervous breakdown yesterday morning.” Whatever his parents had been expecting, it probably hadn’t been that. Even his mother’s leg was startled into motionlessness. Arthur sighed and continued. “Merlin realized pretty much right away. He took me to Gaius, who brought us to A&E. It was over by mid-morning. The doctor was positive it was just stress.”

“Sweetheart,” his mother started. “When you say ‘nervous breakdown…’”

Arthur shifted on the bed. “The doctor called it transient amnesia. I woke up and had no idea where I was. I thought…” Arthur struggled with how exactly to say he thought he was king of a mythological kingdom, then decided against it. “I just panicked. I knew Merlin and Gaius and who everyone was, I just— I don’t know, everything else was just wrong.”

His parents shared a concerned look and his father pulled out his mobile. “I’ll book us a flight,” he said, and his mother breathed a sigh of relief.

“No— Dad, really, you don’t have to—”

“Arthur you can’t expect us to stay in France knowing you’re going through this.”

“You haven’t taken a holiday in _years.”_ Arthur protested. “And I’m _fine_ now! Plus, it’s not like I’m alone. Morgana’s here, and Gaius, and everyone. I _live_ with Merlin. We both have the next week off and he’s insistent that I do nothing.”

Uther glanced up from his mobile, where he was no doubt already calling up the number for the airline, and scoffed, suggesting that he didn’t really believe Arthur could go that long without working (Arthur _was_ his son, after all), but Ygraine paused and placed her hand on top of her husband's mobile. 

“You both have the week off?”

 _“Yes._ You can talk to Merlin, if you really don’t believe me.”

“Why don’t you come here then?”

Arthur blinked. “Huh?”

“You and Merlin. Why don’t you both come down to Cap-Martin and spend the week here?”

His father lowered his mobile. “That’s an idea,” he said. “We just finished decorating the guest suite.” Ygraine beamed and turned her gaze expectantly towards her son.

For reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, Arthur almost had to physically restrain himself from blurting out he’d be on the next flight. Under ordinary circumstances, Arthur knew he’d be reluctant to crash his parents’ getaway and would rather spend it at home with Merlin, who was a workaholic in his own right. But now, be it due to his A&E visit the day before, his bizarre hallucination, or the overwhelming need he felt this morning for a hug from his mother, there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

“Yeah, I… Yeah, that’d be great. I mean, if you don’t mind—”

“Nonsense,” his father interjected. “We’d be thrilled to have you.”

Arthur sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “I’ll have to talk to Merlin,” he said, before his father, who was already raising his mobile once again, could book the tickets. “I’m sure he’ll come, but…”

His mother shook her head. “We understand dear. Check with him and then send your father a text. We’ll take care of the tickets.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest—Merlin had always been a little funny about accepting anything expensive, and Arthur, who tried to be mindful of that, was sure that last minute tickets to the South of France in the springtime would _not_ be cheap—but his mother cut him off. “Tell Merlin he can cook for us one night and help me in the garden if he feels bad about accepting, but we’re covering the tickets.”

Arthur bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll try. So you finished the guest suite already?”

For the next half hour, Arthur listened contentedly as his parents talked about how his mother was in the process of landscaping the garden and how his father was already running out of room on his library shelves after discovering a quaint bookshop in town with an impressive section on medieval history.

“The gentleman who runs the shop is fantastic,” he said excitedly. “He even said he’d ship to the house in Exeter when we go back.”

“That’s great, Dad,” Arthur smiled. 

Just then, Merlin poked his head into the bedroom. “Hey,” he said. “Breakfast is done. You still on with your parents?”

On his phone, Ygraine’s face lit up. “Is that Merlin?”

Arthur motioned for Merlin to join him and rolled his eyes fondly as Merlin plopped unceremoniously next to him on the bed, smiling broadly at Arthur’s screen. “Hi, Ygraine. Hi, Uther. How are you?”

Now, Arthur had never once, in his entire life, doubted that his mother loved him. In fact, in Arthur’s completely biased opinion, Ygraine was the best mother anyone could hope for, although Hunith was probably a close second. And he knew his mother wouldn’t give him up for anything. 

That being said, as Ygraine gazed in starry eyed adoration at Merlin, he suspected that if he and Merlin ever split up, God forbid, Merlin would be the one getting Ygraine in the metaphorical divorce. At least until she masterminded a way to get them back together. 

“Lovely, darling,” she responded. “Arthur was filling us in on what happened. I don’t know what our boy would do without you.”

Merlin ducked his head, his cheeks pink. “S’alright,” he mumbled.

Uther chuckled. “Well, he can’t take care of himself. Lord knows you’re the only one capable of keeping Arthur out of trouble.”

 _“Dad,”_ Arthur exclaimed, his face hot. But really, he was a bit pleased that his father thought highly of Merlin, even if it was at his own expense. When Arthur had first reintroduced Merlin to his parents, as his partner, rather than as his friend, and thus coming out in the process, his father hadn’t quite known how to react. That’s not to say he reacted poorly, really, he had just been confused and acted the way he always did when something just didn’t compute—loudly cleared his throat, changed the subject, and walked away, refusing to acknowledge that anything had changed. 

Although Arthur had been prepared for that reaction, it had still hurt, and he distinctly remembered how his hand had trembled in Merlin’s while the two stood in the Pendragon’s parlor. Ygraine had ushered the boys onto the settee, then chased after her husband. The two emerged from Uther’s study roughly fifteen minutes later and Uther had given a stilted apology and tried to engage Merlin in polite conversation under Ygraine’s stern gaze. Within a month, Uther had more or less acclimated. By their first anniversary, Uther had reached out to every contact he had in the veterinary field so that Merlin would be able to secure the veterinary apprenticeship of his choice when he graduated. Lately, he had taken to dropping increasingly obvious hints to Arthur about scenic wedding venues. 

Ygraine gave her husband a chastising smack on the arm and then turned her attention back to the screen. “Were you boys sitting down to breakfast?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, Arthur’s been on a pancake kick. If he keeps it up, we’ll have to go trouser shopping.”

Without even dignifying Merlin’s comment with mock outrage, Arthur stared straight ahead and simply shoved the other man off the bed, expression unchanged as Merlin let out an undignified “Oof,” and tumbled to the floor.

“Arthur,” his mother scolded, trying to hide her laugh. “That won’t endear him to your trip, you know.”

“He’s fine,” Arthur commented loudly. “Aren’t you, Merlin?”

“Prat,” Merlin grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows. “What trip?”

Arthur ignored him and turned his attention back to his parents. “I’ll talk to you later today?”

His father nodded. “Just tell me when you want to leave and we’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Dad. Mum.” Arthur smiled. “I’ll let you know in a bit.” 

“Bye, sweetheart. Bye, Merlin,” his mother cooed, then warned Arthur sternly. “Be nice to him.”

Laughing, Arthur nodded. “Always,” he said. If his voice cracked a little, no one mentioned it. He ended the call and slumped back against the headboard, glancing at Merlin from the corner of his eye, who was still sitting on the floor, propped up on his elbows, eyeing Arthur suspiciously now.

“What trip?” he asked again.

“My parents want us to come visit for the week,” Arthur said. No use beating around the bush. “They were, well, a little upset when I told them what happened yesterday. Wanted to come back themselves, but, you know.”

“First holiday since you were ten?”

“Yup,” Arthur replied, popping his lips on the ‘p.’ “They want to cover the plane tickets,” he added. Merlin, as Arthur knew he would, opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off. “Mum said you can cook one night and help her in the garden if you’re going to be difficult about it.”

Merlin’s mouth snapped shut and he glowered. “I’m not being _difficult,”_ he muttered. “They’re just expensive.”

“My term, not hers, to be fair.”

“Figures,” Merlin scoffed and pushed himself up onto his feet. “Are they sure?” he asked softly.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, _Mer_ lin, they’re sure. Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal for them.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and took Merlin’s hands lightly in his, tracing the lines of his palm. Merlin pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Fine,” he said. “But just this once. And only because they’re worried about you. They have to let me buy my own ticket next time.”

Arthur laughed. “Fair enough.”

Merlin grasped Arthur’s hands, stopping his tracing. “C’mon,” he said, hauling him up. “Breakfast is warming in the oven. We can figure out details while we eat.”

At the mention of breakfast, the scent of pancakes wafted into the room, as if on cue. Only too happy to follow, Arthur allowed Merlin to lead him to his seat at the table, watching appreciatively as Merlin bent over to take the pan full of food out of the oven.

“Seriously?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow when he noticed his stare. 

Arthur shrugged and leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. “Leave me alone, Merlin. I’m sick.”

Merlin placed the pan on the table and gave Arthur a glare, the only thing giving away his humor the small quirk to his lips. “Oh yes, you’re practically an invalid. Of course that gives you permission to ogle me.” 

Laughing, Arthur held his arms out to beckon Merlin to him. Merlin stepped forward, settling his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and straddling his waist. “What did I do to deserve you?” Arthur murmured, leaning into the other man.

Merlin snorted and ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair gently. “No idea. I’m way too good for you.”

“Oi! I’ll have you know, I’m a catch—mmph!” Merlin cut him off with a kiss, digits tightening in Arthur’s hair. Arthur groaned and curled his fingers around Merlin’s waist, drawing him closer and bucking slightly as Merlin ground into his thigh.

Kissing Merlin, Arthur decided, felt like finding the perfect religion. It was an all-encompassing warmth that he could feel in every molecule of his being. It made him feel safe. Warm. Loved.

The mobile on the counter vibrated twice, breaking through Arthur’s haze. “Ignore it,” he protested as Merlin pulled away, making to check the message. “It’ll just be my dad asking when we want to leave.”

The mobile gave another buzz, seemingly in retaliation, and Merlin walked over to retrieve it, much to Arthur’s consternation. “Something we should probably figure out,” he said checking the message. “He says he can get us a flight tomorrow afternoon. The way it’s phrased, I get the feeling he already booked it.”

Arthur groaned and allowed his head to fall back, a light smile playing about his lips despite himself. “Honestly, what’s the point in asking if he’s just going to go ahead and do it on his own?”

Merlin snickered. “Oh, shush, you’re pleased. I know that face.” He paused and chewed on his lower lip—a nervous habit he’d developed in uni. “We’ll have to pack and get ready today. It’s kind of short notice. I need to ring mum, too, and let her know. And probably Gaius…” he trailed off, already making mental lists, breakfast forgotten. Arthur rolled his eyes fondly.

“We can figure it out after we eat. It’ll go cold.” Truthfully, if Arthur thought he could convince Merlin, he’d leave right now, packing be damned. It was perhaps a bit strange—it’d only been about two weeks since he last saw his parents in person and he’d certainly gone longer without seeing them before—but the hole in his chest made it seem like he hadn’t seen them in years. Inexplicitly, he felt almost angry with himself for not enjoying, _truly enjoying,_ his time with his parents before now, but he forced the feeling down. _It’s the stress,_ he told himself. _You had a dream your parents were dead and now you’re just a little overemotional. But that’s all it was. Just a dream._

Even so, he felt unsettled. A distant voice broke through a crack in his haze, insisting that Arthur _knew_ that was wrong, that he should be fighting… something? Anxiety began to seep into his chest. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, just waiting to fall. It wasn’t just a dream he’d had, was it? There was something he was missing, he knew it, he only had to focus and—

Merlin suddenly filled his vision and his anxiety dispersed, as if it had never really been there to begin with. “You alright, space cadet?” he asked. “You looked like you were spiraling a bit there.”

Arthur smiled. “I’m fine,” he said. And he was. Because why wouldn’t he be? He was about to spend a week in the South of France with the people he loved most in the world. He was safe. He was happy. He was loved.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a whirl of phone calls, packing, and general chaos. Merlin was Facetiming Hunith from the kitchen as he heated up leftovers from the night before. A few moments ago, he had absently wondered aloud if he’d retained enough French to not make a fool of himself, to which Arthur snorted and told him that he was sure to make a fool of himself regardless. Although the comment had made Hunith let out a guilty giggle, it had the ultimate effect of Merlin pushing Arthur into the bedroom with a stern warning that he’d better keep his prat comments to himself and finish packing, and closing the door behind him.

Arthur gazed forlornly at the room, eyeing his nearly-empty luggage. He hated packing. With a sigh, he opened his side of the dresser and began indiscriminately pulling out whatever clothing he thought he’d need. As he yanked out a pair of socks, his eye caught a glimpse of a small, black box, shoved in the back of the drawer.

In a daze, Arthur dropped his socks in favor of lifting out the box and moving towards the bed, dropping down next to his suitcase. Once he was confident that Merlin was still preoccupied with his mother and not about to come barging in, he carefully lifted the box’s lid, revealing a thin silver band.

It was a subtle, delicate thing, really. Three silver vines intricately woven together, inset with tiny sapphires. Arthur vaguely remembered thinking it was probably designed as a wedding band, rather than an engagement ring, when he first saw it by chance in a jeweler’s shop window almost a year ago now. He hadn’t even been concretely thinking of marriage then, but there had just been something about that ring that had made it seem like the obvious decision. So naturally, he’d barreled into the shop like a madman, brandishing his credit card and demanding that the shocked jeweler ring him up immediately, no he didn’t care to know the cost first, thank you very much. For it had been perfect. 

Merlin hated gold, he knew—thought it looked tacky. And he was always going on about conflict diamonds whenever the ‘dying diamond industry’ came up in the news. Plus, the ring would suit Merlin’s fae, willowy nature without looking ostentatious, of that much Arthur was certain. Merlin would probably wear it, when Arthur finally found a good time to give it to him. He’d wanted to wait until Merlin finished his apprenticeship next month, but it seemed… important somehow that he asked sooner.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Arthur snapped the lid shut and shoved the box under his pillow, just in time for Merlin to stick his head into the room. “Just finished talking to Mum,” he said, the raised an eyebrow at Arthur’s haphazardly packed suitcase. “Really?”

Arthur flushed. “I was going to organize it.”

“Sure,” Merlin hummed. “Well, you can organize it later, dinner’s all heated up.”

“Be there in a sec,” he said, as Merlin nodded and retreated down the hall. When he was sure Merlin was out of earshot, he reached under his pillow to retrieve the velvet ring box and opened it once again, mesmerized by the way the light glinted off the metal and stones.

A moment passed.

Then another.

From the kitchen, Merlin swore as the plate he was taking out of the microwave burned his palm.

Arthur grinned and placed the ring box carefully within his suitcase before heading out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Uther channels his inner Giles, because Anthony Head, and he and Ygraine get to be the parents Arthur deserved.
> 
> Sorry this is (once again) coming late. I’m officially off whatever schedule I’d set for myself at this point, life’s just been a bit too crazy. I got caught in a 70% office-wide COVID furlough going into effect next month and then had to drop basically $1,000 on my car the exact same day I found out, which blew. Coupled with my old friends chronic migraines and really awful TMJ pain rearing their ugly heads, it’s been an eventful few weeks. 
> 
> But life goes on and working on this is a nice break. Hope you enjoyed and, as always, thank you for your support!


	7. A Mixed Bag

Merlin could feel his eyes slipping shut as he listlessly pushed open the door to Arthur’s chambers, holding the king’s breakfast. 

All night.

All night he had looked through Gaius’ tomes searching for an answer that would explain Arthur’s dreams and all he had to show for it were the dark circles under his eyes, a persistent yawn, and a general sense that his life was going to continue being very difficult for the foreseeable future. Somewhat bitterly, Merlin thought that it was probably a good thing that he was used to that by now. 

Backing into the room, Merlin glanced over his shoulder in an attempt to gauge how difficult waking up Arthur would be that morning. He was, as usual, still asleep, curled up on his side, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady fashion. Merlin felt his lips quirk into an expression he was sure was nauseatingly soft as he carefully set the plate on the table. Honestly, it wasn’t right, he thought as he eyed Arthur’s tow head peeking out from under the blankets, for him to look so innocent and defenseless when that was the complete opposite of his true nature. 

Shaking his head and biting back a grin, Merlin wondered how much longer this seemingly sweet disposition would last as he threw open the curtains and turned to yank the covers back. Probably not long. Arthur had never been a morning person in all the years Merlin had known him.

But as Merlin curled his fingers around the duvet and pulled it back, his overly cheery ‘Rise and shine!’ died in his throat and he found himself stuffing his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing. 

Because Arthur, hypermasculine, emotionally constipated, ‘don’t-be-such-a-girl-Merlin’ Arthur, was clutching Lady Winnifred close to his chest, tight as can be, as he slept. Merlin resisted the urge to call for Gwaine, who would absolutely _never_ let this go. They’d be old and grey and unable to walk, but Gwaine would still call Arthur ‘Princess’ and ask if he remembered the time he kept the most beautiful fake woman in the land in his bed then proceed to tell a highly embellished, decidedly raunchy, story to anyone who would listen as Arthur glared.

But a clench in his heart stopped him as Arthur shifted slightly, murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, and curled even further in on himself. Suddenly, Merlin felt that, morally speaking, he would deserve at least a month in the dungeons for waking Arthur up when he was sleeping so peacefully. 

Merlin peered a little closer. Arthur was dead asleep, he realized. Resisting the urge to run his fingers through the king’s hair, Merlin wondered how long it had actually taken Arthur to fall asleep the previous night, for him to be sleeping so deeply now, when he’d usually be at least a little closer to consciousness.

“Arthur?” he tried, somewhat halfheartedly. “It’s time to get up.”

After only a moment more of observing the dark circles present under Arthur’s eyes, even as he slept, Merlin mentally began shuffling Arthur’s morning schedule around. There were no public audiences today and Leon could handle morning drills with the knights. Gaius was extraordinarily keen to know whether Arthur had visited the dream world again, but… 

As if sensing Merlin’s mental decision, Arthur pressed his face further into his pillow, smiling slightly. Merlin felt his heart ache as he set the covers back over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Just a little while longer,” he said, disgustingly fond. “You deserve a bit of a rest, yeah?”

Wishing he could forever preserve the image of Arthur cuddled up to a doll that he insisted he hated, Merlin retreated from the bed to move Arthur’s breakfast from the table to the nightstand, snagging the apple from the side of the plate before creeping quietly out the door. Arthur preferred meat over fruit anyway. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

* * *

Talking to Leon had taken less time than Merlin thought. Before he could even finish his statement that Arthur seemed exhausted and he hadn’t had the heart to wake him, Leon had immediately offered to take charge of the morning’s training so that Arthur could rest. 

“He’s lost his father and gained a kingdom in a matter of days,” Leon had said decidedly, selecting a training sword. “He needs to be allowed time to grieve.”

Merlin smiled gratefully, thankful that Leon didn’t feel the need to pry. The only ones who knew about Arthur’s nighttime trips to the future were Arthur, Gaius, and himself, and Arthur had been insistent that they keep it that way.

Making his way to the large whetstone in the corner with one of Arthur’s swords, Merlin figured he had enough time to sharpen Arthur’s preferred weapons before he absolutely had to wake him. If he started on his chores, he could at least avoid a dressing down for being lazy on top of the one he was sure to receive for letting Arthur sleep in. 

As he began his task, Merlin felt his mind wander and allowed himself a moment to breathe. Arthur was safe in bed, in what seemed to be a normal sleep, he reminded himself. Of course, that’s how he had appeared yesterday morning, as well. But he still hadn’t been hurt, just confused.

Merlin felt his brow furrow as he re-ran yesterday’s events in his head for what seemed like the hundredth time, once again finding himself unable to focus on anything but the memory of Arthur pulling him close and kissing his neck. 

No matter what Arthur said, no matter how paranoid he insisted Merlin was being, Merlin _knew_ that Arthur wasn’t telling him the whole story of the dream world. He couldn’t be. Because yesterday morning’s Arthur did not fit into the description of the world he’d provided. A world where he and Arthur apparently shared an accommodation together (with their own rooms, about which Arthur had been particularly insistent) and Merlin still did all the chores, but Arthur _helped_ , and somehow something called a lead balloon (although Merlin still wasn’t sure what that was) was involved. 

A world where they were allowed to be friends, _real_ friends, at least, though he refused to think beyond that possibility. Merlin was almost jealous of dream-Merlin, but immediately shook the feeling. Because upon waking up and taking in his surroundings, Arthur had been frantic. With everything else going on, this stress was the last thing Arthur needed. 

And now, Merlin thought miserably as he remembered the way Arthur had bolted from his chambers the day before, nearly strangling Agravaine in the process, just because Merlin had _smiled_ at him, Arthur seemed like he didn’t even want to be in the same _room_ as Merlin. So much for them being ‘such good friends.’ Let alone the fantasy that had been playing out in Merlin’s mind for nearly a day now, in which Arthur kissed his neck _every_ morning, and knew about Merlin’s magic but thought it wonderful, and took him on picnics, and maybe they retired to the countryside together because their destiny got itself together and they could just raise horses or goats or something and be happy. 

“Merlin?” Gwen’s soft voice called. “Are you in there?”

Merlin started and winced as he dropped the sword in surprise, face scarlet. “Yes?” he replied, voice sounding strangled, even to his own ears. 

Gwen’s face poked around the corner and lit up in a warm smile upon seeing her friend. “There you are. Leon said he’d just seen you.”

“Here I am,” he echoed, smiling perhaps a little more forcefully than he would have normally. Anything to distract from the gnawing feeling growing in his stomach.

Because it was Gwen.

Kind, sweet, beautiful, _wonderful_ Gwen, who was his _friend_ , and who never had a bad word to say about anyone.

Gwen who was in love with Arthur.

Gwen whom Arthur was courting because he loved her back. 

Gwen, not Merlin.

Merlin felt sick with the knowledge that he hadn’t even thought of Gwen or her feelings when he’d pictured his ‘perfect life’ with Arthur. Remembering the scratch of Arthur’s morning stubble against his neck, he realized that Gwen’s potential pain should have been the first thing he thought of after the shock had worn off. Merlin considered Gwen to be among his best friends and, despite logically knowing that he hadn’t really done anything wrong, he knew that she didn’t deserve to be forgotten like that.

His inner struggle must have shown on his face, because Gwen’s crumpled in worry and she was at Merlin’s side immediately, holding her hand to his forehead. “Merlin? Is everything alright?” she asked, voice laced with concern, which only made Merlin feel worse. “You look pale.”

Merlin swallowed roughly and managed a shaky smile. “‘M fine,” he replied. “Just had a long night. I was helping Gaius with some research and time got away from me. How are you?”

Gwen gave him a considering look and Merlin worried for a moment that she had spontaneously developed the ability to read minds. Finally, she answered, smiling, “Oh, the same as always. Leon said he was taking over training for the morning so Arthur could rest, so I thought we could eat together if you had the time.” She set a cloth containing a number of pastries and some fruit on the small table to Merlin’s right. His stomach rumbled and he realized he’d only had the apple off Arthur’s plate today. Oh gods, he didn’t deserve her. Arthur didn’t deserve her. The gods themselves didn’t deserve her.

It wasn’t until Gwen began to stutter and flush that Merlin realized he’d said that out loud. He shoved a pastry in his mouth. “I stand by it,” he said through a mouth full of food, prompting Gwen to smack him lightly on the arm.

The two fell into light conversation as they ate, and Merlin felt himself relax. Maybe it was silly to feel so guilty over something that was probably all in his head. But as Gwen laughed at his impression of Sir Rodric tripping over a wine barrel, Merlin was oddly glad that he did feel guilt. She deserved that, if nothing else.

Gwen tilted her head. “So when _are_ you going to wake Arthur?” she asked curiously. “Won’t he be cross that you’ve let him miss training?”

Merlin groaned. “I’m sure. Nevermind that his ridiculous number of weapons are already taken care of while he slept. We all know I’ll be the lazy one.”

Gwen giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. “I haven’t really seen him these past few days. How is he?”

Falling silent, Merlin tried not to feel guilty as he tried to figure out how to answer as honestly as possible. “He’s… I mean, he’s alright, just… stressed. I don’t think he knows how to process everything that’s been happening, so he’s exhausting himself. He’s not really… sleeping well.”

Gwen hummed thoughtfully, worry taking over her face. “Do you think he’d talk about it?”

“Not to me,” Merlin said, privately remembering how Arthur would aggressively change the subject any time Merlin attempted to bring up the kiss, or really anything that happened in his dream. Glancing sideways at Gwen, he wondered if maybe Arthur had the same realization about Gwen as Merlin, just at a more appropriate time.

“I think you’d be surprised, Merlin. He always talks to you.” Merlin scoffed and Gwen narrowed her eyes. “I mean it. You know he values your opinion, even if he doesn’t say it.”

Merlin grunted. “Values that he gets to call me an idiot for waking him up late. Heaven forbid I try to look out for him.”

“You know, the longer you put it off…”

“Or,” Merlin suggested, innocently. “You could wake him up and I could hide out here. He won’t yell at you. He might even get up without a fight, for once.” He hoped that last part didn’t come out too bitter. Judging by Gwen’s flush, he was probably in the clear and continued. “Actually, that might be a good idea. It’s not like he’s seen you the last few days, either. He’ll be glad to see you.” A quiet smile bloomed on Gwen’s face and Merlin felt his heart break, just a bit. _It’s better this way_ , he thought. _She loves him so much._

“I suppose,” she said slowly. “Although Cook has probably already cleared the kitchen…”

“I left his breakfast on his table. It should still be fine.”

 _“Merlin!”_ Gwen cried, horrified, but still laughing. “It’ll be cold by now.”

Merlin shrugged and grinned. “Then that prat should have gotten up when I tried to wake him.”

Gwen shook her head, but gathered her skirts and stood. “I’ll try to keep him from yelling at you,” she said. “You’re only looking out for him. He needs that.”

“Thanks, Gwen,” he said softly. “You should head over. I’m going to try and finish this up before he comes storming in here.”

Laughing, Gwen bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek before sweeping out of the room, a light blush on her face and an excited bounce to her step. Merlin sighed, guilt only a little assuaged, and mentally repeated his mantra from earlier. _It’s better this way. She loves him so much. They’ll make each other happy._

Because in the end, as far as Merlin was concerned, that was really all that mattered.

* * *

Once again, there was an inordinate amount of light striking Arthur’s eyelids, preventing him from staying asleep, and something tickling his nose. _Blackout curtains_ , he decided. _Blackout curtains with a remote control. Or a west-facing flat. That would solve this._

Groaning, Arthur blearily opened his eyes, taking in the red covers, canopy, and distinct lack of Merlin lying next to him. _Ah,_ he thought. _Camelot._

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying—and failing—to convince himself that he wasn’t disappointed. In his dream, he and Merlin had finished packing, watched a few episodes of some superhero show Merlin had recently gotten into, and called it an early night. But in his excitement to see his parents the next day, it had still taken ages for him to fall asleep.

He tried not to think of the ring his dream self had successfully hidden in his suitcase and the implications that it had, both in the dreamworld and here. _It’s not real,_ he told himself. _It’s an enchantment, it’s not real._

He wished he was more convincing.

As he became more coherent, Arthur realized that the thing tickling his nose was yarn, which was odd, seeing as he didn’t think he had anything with…

He stared blankly at Lady Winnifred clutched in his arms for several moments and then at the tray of breakfast sitting innocently on his nightstand.

_“Merlin!”_

It was a setup. It had to be. He was Arthur Pendragon. He didn’t sleep with _dolls._ A clanging sound drifted in through the window. It sounded like it was coming from the training yard. _Morning training_ , he realized. _But he was meant to be leading it. So why…_ His eyes widened at the realization that the sun was already quite high in the sky and Merlin had neglected to wake him.

_“MERLIN!”_

Ohhh, he was going to kill his manservant, unrequited love be damned. He was going to force Merlin to be his sparring partner for a month. He was only going to use the hammer. And then he was going to throw him in the stocks and let the ravens peck out his stupid, pretty eyes. He was going to—

There was a soft knock at the door and Arthur froze, halfway through disentangling himself from his sheets. _Merlin._ Ripping himself free, he stomped over to his chamber doors and yanked them open, only for his threat of torture and banishment to die in his throat.

“Guinevere?”

“Merlin’s completing his chores in the armory,” she said mildly, suggesting that she’d heard him yelling. Arthur got the impression that she’d been laughing at him only seconds ago. “Already has your entire sword collection sharper than I’ve ever seen it, too.”

Arthur felt his face flush and he wilted, just a little, as he stepped aside to allow her in. “That’s all fine,” he grumbled. “But he was _supposed_ to wake me up before doing that so I could get to training.”

Gwen shot him a dry look and under her gaze, Arthur felt very much like a child who had just gotten caught breaking something he had been told repeatedly not to touch. “He’s looking out for you, Arthur. Making sure you get some rest. And he was right, you need it. Are you sure you slept at all last night? You look dreadful.”

Arthur considered being indignant but felt his mind grind to a halt as Guinevere, in an echo of Arthur’s dream, placed a soft hand to his forehead. But with one very large difference, as her other hand came to rest gently on his chest. She was standing far too close.

Arthur scrambled backwards, eyes wide, in what he was certain was a highly undignified manner. Gwen certainly looked shocked, at any rate. “Arth-”

 _“Lancelot!”_ Arthur burst out, more than a little frantic, all but hiding behind his table. 

Alarmed, Gwen furrowed her brow. “Lancelot?” she asked, holding her hands out, the way one would when approaching a spooked horse. “He’s… He’s in the training yard, last I saw. Arthur, are you alright? Do you need me to get him?”

Arthur shook his head furiously. “I do _not,”_ he insisted, “He would be—” He froze as his mind caught up to his instinctive reaction. 

Because he was in Camelot. 

Camelot where Gwen and Lance were _not_ married and therefore Lance would _not_ be emotionally crushed to see his not-wife standing just a little too close to really be appropriate to one of his best friends.

Camelot where _he_ and Gwen were actually the ones courting, notably because Lance had decided to step back in his own affections.

Involuntarily, Arthur thought of Merlin and felt his heart seize. Gwen was still looking at him in a way that bordered on terrified. He met her gaze with a panic-stricken look of his own, but _really_ looked at her. 

She was beautiful, he thought. Now that his shock was fading, memories of their courtship were coming back to him and he couldn’t deny that he loved her. She was intelligent and kind and always willing to lend her ear to anyone who needed it. Logically, he knew that in Camelot, _in reality,_ he reminded himself forcefully, Gwen and Lancelot were not together, that Lance had stepped aside because he’d known Arthur cared for her. But…

Arthur thought of the framed pictures on his dream-flat’s wall of Gwen and Lance’s wedding and of the picture that dream-Merlin had declared his favorite, due to the way Gwen was smiling at the camera, but Lance was instead staring at her, smiling as if he couldn’t quite believe that they were married and that he could be so lucky. 

However much Arthur loved Gwen, he didn’t love her like that. And looking at Gwen now, her concern for Arthur’s well-being evident, anything less than that that, real or dream world, was less than she deserved. 

He knew now, how happy she could be with Lancelot. More than that, he was uncomfortably aware of how, now that his dream world was all but forcing him to confront his feelings regarding Merlin, not only would he be keeping two of his best friends from their happiness, he’d be forever missing his own, the fact that he couldn’t have Merlin here being irrelevant. He’d rather be alone than chase a memory, all the while dragging those he cared about down with him.

“Arthur?”

Arthur’s head snapped up. His own realizations aside, poor Gwen had absolutely no _idea_ what was going on.

“Merlin,” he sputtered as Gwen blinked in confusion. “I have to find Merlin.” That probably didn’t help.

“He’s… in the armory.” She made to move towards him, but a hurt expression crossed her face as she reached out to Arthur, only for him to jerk back and rush around her to the door. “Arthur are you alright?”

“Fine,” he called over his shoulder, wrenching the door open. “I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just have to— Sorry!” Arthur bolted down the hall, leaving behind a highly confused Gwen, but unable to remain in the room any longer. In what seemed like no time at all, he found himself in the armory, watching as Merlin polished his chainmail.

“You didn’t wake me up,” he accused.

Merlin jumped and once again, Arthur was struck by his manservant’s resemblance to a stoat. It was uncanny, really.

But Merlin got over his surprise quickly and ignored the accusation. “I did try, but you couldn't be moved.”

“Merlin, I am a trained warrior. I could never sleep through you bumbling about my chambers.”

“Trained warrior. Right. How’s Lady Winnifred?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I know you put that doll there.”

“Whatever you need to believe, my lord,” he snorted. 

Arthur continued to glare halfheartedly, but eventually gave up and sank into the seat next to Merlin.

When it became apparent that Arthur was not going to continue the conversation, Merlin set the chainmail on the table and turned to him. “Well?” he asked. “Did you… you know. Did you go to that other world again?”

Avoiding Merlin’s gaze, Arthur merely grunted in affirmation. He could feel, rather than see Merlin roll his eyes.

“Come on, tell me what happened. Maybe it can help guide our research. Gaius and I were reading all night, but haven’t been able to narrow anything down. And I know there’s something about it that you aren’t telling me.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably as he again thought of the ring his dream self had hidden in his suitcase. _Yes, of course,_ he imagined himself saying. _I have been hiding something from you and it’s that in my dream world we’re in stupid love with one another, my enchanted self is planning to propose, and I’m kind of hoping that you’ll ignore the fact that the real you doesn’t think of me like that and agrees to marry me anyway so we can run off and have a farm together._

Stupid.

Instead, he asked, “What happened with Guinevere and Lancelot?”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

“Guinevere and Lancelot,” he repeated. “Why did they never… You know.”

Merlin looked at Arthur incredulously. “Arthur,” he said alarmed. _“You’re_ courting Gwen.”

“I _know_ that,” Arthur ground out, frustrated. “But… It’s just… Lancelot has feelings for her, right? And I know it’s mutual, so why?”

“Where is this coming from?”

Arthur sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer out of Merlin until he conceded something. “The enchantment,” he said finally. “Gwen and Lance were, well, married.” Merlin’s eyes bugged out of his head, but Arthur continued. “We were actually both in their wedding. They were so happy, it’s just a little jarring. To be back here and see them… apart. It feels wrong. I just don’t really understand how that happened.”

Merlin’s jaw was hanging open. “Arthur,” he said carefully. “You know Gwen loves you, right? You know she’s happy?” Arthur met Merlin’s gaze evenly, but didn’t respond. Merlin sighed. “She and Lancelot, they were, I mean… They did love each other. But, well, Lancelot left and Gwen moved on. She’s resilient like that. When Lancelot came back, she’d chosen you. Lancelot respects that. And he saw how much you love her, so he stepped aside.”

“But he still loves her.”

“Arthur—”

“And if Lancelot makes her happiest she should be with him,” he said decidedly, ignoring Merlin’s flabbergasted expression. “I can’t sit here and continue our courtship when I’ve _seen_ how happy she is with someone else and knowing I can’t give her that.” That the reason Arthur could never love Gwen in the way she deserved was because he’d already dedicated that love to Merlin was not something Merlin needed to know.

“Arthur, what you saw wasn’t _real._ You can’t make a decision like this based on what we’re pretty sure is an enchantment.”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s not just the dream,” he said. “I think… I think I’ve felt like this for a while, I just didn’t realize it until it was right in front of me. Besides, it’s not like I’m just going to drop her without an explanation. I just wanted to know what happened. So I could talk to her about it. See where she stood.”

At this declaration, Merlin looked conflicted and Arthur was uncomfortably reminded that Gwen had been Merlin’s friend before Arthur had been. “Look,” he continued. “This isn’t a decision I’m going to make by myself, but if there’s even a chance that what I saw _could_ be real, Gwen should at least be able to choose without thinking that she’d be hurting me.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, fiddling with Arthur’s chainmail. “And if she chooses Lancelot? What happens to you?”

Arthur grinned, genuine. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Smiling through his incredulity, Merlin let out a laugh. “You’re mad. I would think you wouldn’t want to take advice from your enchantment.”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s not all bad,” he said, thinking of how, if he’d been in the enchantment now, he could lean against Merlin and would likely get a light press of lips against the crown of his head. He paused. “I saw my mother.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“I mean, it was on FaceTime—sort of a… well, I don’t really know how to explain it, but I could see and talk to her… We made plans to go see her tomorrow.”

“‘We?’”

Arthur flushed at his slip. “Well, it seemed rude to not invite you.”

“Not that that’s ever stopped you before,” Merlin interrupted as Arthur scoffed.

“Yeah, well.” He was quiet for a moment, remembering his mother’s soft voice, her unyielding concern, and how uncharacteristically _mellow_ her presence had rendered his father. He wondered if that was the father he could have had, had she lived. “Is it wrong that I hope you and Gaius fail for one more day? So that I can go back to see her?” he asked finally, sounding broken.

“I don’t know about ‘wrong,’ but I think that’s how I would feel. If I never knew my mother,” Merlin offered after a moment. 

Before Arthur could respond, they were interrupted by a small commotion outside. Shooting each other confused looks, Arthur and Merlin stood, making their way towards the door. As they approached, Leon rushed in.

“Merlin, have you woken up—Oh! Arthur, you’re awake.”

“No thanks to Merlin, here,” Arthur responded, jostling Merlin’s shoulder and causing Merlin to let out a cry of indignation.

Leon looked as if he was biting back a smile, but his look quickly became somber. “Sire, you’re needed in the throne room. The guards in the lower town have apprehended a sorcerer.”

At Arthur’s side, Merlin stiffened but remained silent. 

Arthur glanced down at himself, noting that he was still in his sleep clothes. “I’ll be there in a moment. As someone neglected to wake me up this morning, I find myself inappropriately dressed for the day.”

Normally, such a response would prompt some sort of sarcastic response on Merlin’s part, but his manservant was strangely quiet. He made a mental note to get to the bottom of that, but it would have to wait. "Thank you, Leon."

Leon gave a short bow and strode back out. Arthur turned to Merlin.

“Could this be the sorcerer? The one who enchanted me?”

Merlin glanced up and grimaced, clearly thinking along those same lines. 

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

* * *

There was no way this was the sorcerer. 

The boy thrown in front of Arthur couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old, but his uncle stood proudly over the boy like he had just brought down a sorcerer of legend.

“What is this?” Arthur asked. “I was told you’d apprehended a sorcerer. This is a child.”

Agravaine stepped forward. “My lord,” he began, “this _child_ was caught blatantly using sorcery to steal in the lower town. He used magic to levitate food from a vendor to him. The guards caught him at it and arrested him immediately.” He threw down a burlap sack triumphantly and, upon hitting the floor, the sack burst open, displaying the boy’s alleged spoils. 

A few apples rolled out, accompanied by some pastries and a half-handful of dried meats. All in all, a meager trove, something that would usually get a child a mere slap on the wrist and maybe a day or so working for the vendor he’d stolen from. 

Arthur turned his attention to the boy. He was skinny—extremely skinny—and his face and tattered clothing were covered in dirt. In fact, the only part of him not completely filthy were the tracks his tears had carved out in the grime of his face. But that’s not what struck Arthur in that moment.

No, in that moment, the only thing Arthur found himself able to focus on was the terror that overtook the boy’s face as he stared at Arthur from his spot on the ground. He thought he might feel more paralyzed than the boy.

He suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about the position he held in the lives of his citizens. He was meant to be a protector. Someone they came to for help. Not… Not someone they feared. Not someone that a boy this young was horrified to be in the presence of after having done something so minor. He’d used magic yes, but he had the feeling it was more of a last-resort situation. No one had been hurt. And he was just a child. How bad must his situation be that he felt the need to turn to _magic,_ one of the most heavily prosecuted crimes in Camelot, just to get _food?_ Among the whirl of emotions, Arthur was distinctly able to pick out shame. It was his responsibility to provide for his people. Obviously he was already failing. The boy shouldn’t be held responsible for the shortfall of his own new rule.

Arthur made his decision.

“Let him go,” he choked out.

The throne room, already quiet, went deadly silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin jerk his head in his direction, mouth open slightly in shock.

For his part, Agravaine didn’t quite look like he could believe the command, either.

“My… My lord?”

“I said let him _go!”_

The guard keeping the boy on the ground scrambled to help him up, which took a moment, as the boy seemed just as frozen in shock as the rest of the room. He eyed Arthur with a wariness that suggested he thought this whole scenario was about to turn into a cruel joke. 

It made Arthur feel sick.

He gestured for Merlin to approach. “Get some food from the kitchens,” he instructed under his breath. “Something that will last.”

Merlin looked a little bewildered, but nodded and immediately set to complete his task. 

Silently, Arthur began to collect the spilled food and replace it in the sack. The boy never took his eyes off him. When he was done, he offered the sack to the boy, who took it cautiously.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The boy started, eyes widening a fraction more. “Gideon,” he responded shakily.

Arthur nodded. “Gideon, I cannot condone stealing, but you’re in no danger here. If your situation is desperate, you can always appeal to me for assistance. Do you understand?”

Gideon nodded slowly, but still appeared as if he were waiting for the penny to drop. Behind the boy, Merlin re-entered the throne room and approached Arthur with an additional sack, filled with food. Arthur smiled gratefully and accepted the sack before dropping to Gideon’s level.

“I want you to take this,” he said, handing it over. Shaking, Gideon peered into the sack and let out a gasp when he saw its contents. He looked back up at Arthur in awe. “But you need to be careful. And no more stealing.”

The awed look not dropping from his face, the boy began nodding furiously. “Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.”

“Lancelot,” he called, trying to avoid his friend’s eyes, his revelation about Gwen still distantly on his mind. “Would you see to it that Gideon gets home safely?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Bless Lancelot’s unshakable professionalism. “And report back to me on the state of his family and the others in the area, if they need more assistance,” he added quietly.

Lancelot stared at him, something like pride shining in his gaze. “Yes, my lord,” he said and turned towards the boy, holding out a hand to carry one of his sacks, and escorting him from the throne room. The heavy door closed and once again, silence reigned.

It was Agravaine who finally broke it.

“Sire, that boy was practicing _magic,”_ he said incredulously.

Arthur steeled himself, feeling his frustration already growing. “He didn’t hurt anyone. He stole some half-rotten food. Something that would otherwise get any other child a slap on the wrist”

 _“Using magic!”_ Agravaine exclaimed. “The punishment for which—”

 _“The punishment for which does not fit the damage done!”_ Arthur burst out. In the back of his mind, Arthur felt himself compiling facts, data, and laws in a way he never had before. A distant, oddly familiar voice in his head cursed Camelot’s lack of social programs. With a start, he realized it was his own voice, but not the Arthur of Camelot. Deciding that he would deal with that realization at a later time, he glared at his uncle. “If anything, his stealing and use of magic reflects on my own failings that he was even placed in that situation to begin with.”

Agravaine gaped at him, mouth flapping uselessly. “Arthur, this is—”

Arthur’s frustration, with the situation, his uncle, and himself, expanded tremendously in an instant. “Camelot is _my_ kingdom, uncle. And I’ll run it the way I see fit,” he snapped. 

“But Arthur—”

“No.” He shouldered past his uncle and yelled as he stormed out, _“Merlin!”_ He could hear, rather than see, Merlin scramble to catch up to him and was grateful that he still seemed too shocked to engage in his usual chatter. He needed a moment to think.

He wasn’t much better by the time he reached his chambers, opting to throw himself angrily onto his desk chair, hold his head in his hands, and take several much needed deep breathes. 

Merlin stood silently by the door, just looking at him.

“You let him go,” he stated softly.

Arthur let out a frustrated growl. “He was a child, of course I let him go.”

“You gave him food.”

“He was starving. I have a responsibility to my people.”

“He used magic.

Silence.

Arthur looked curiously up at Merlin, who continued to watch him, neutral expression unwavering. “You think I should have executed him?”

“Your father would have.”

There was no accusation in his tone, just a simple statement, but Arthur felt the blow as if Merlin had stuck him. He felt his world crash around his ears.

Because Merlin was _right._

Uther would have absolutely executed that child without a second thought. All Arthur had ever wanted was for his father to look on him with pride and Arthur was sure that if his father had been alive to see what Arthur had just done… The disappointment in his eyes would have cut sharper than any sword in the armory.

And yet… Arthur pictured how the fear in Gideon’s eyes had turned to awe when he was presented with the second ration of food. _That_ was the person that Arthur wanted to be for his people. Loved, not feared. His thoughts turned to his uncle’s reaction and how, though present, not a single Council member had supported Arthur’s decision, just sat there quietly with slightly disapproving looks on their faces, clearly having expected him to uphold his father’s legacy of prosecuting magic users with an iron fist.

He tried to imagine himself in that reality, ordering that Gideon be taken to the dungeons and executed at first light.

He felt sick.

‘The boy will grow and his magic will corrupt him.’ He could hear his father’s warning in his head, clear as if he’d been alive and standing next to him.

The fear on Gideon’s face swam back into his mind’s eye.

“He was so afraid,” he said finally. “Of _me._ I’m supposed to be the one protecting him and his family. He was just a child and the thought of _me_ terrified him.” He took a deep breath and silently apologized to his father. “I don’t want to rule like that.”

Once again, silence overtook the room. But then:

“Good.”

It was perhaps ridiculous, the warmth that flooded through Arthur at that single word. But in that moment, it was right and Arthur felt the weight vanish from his chest as he met Merlin’s gaze.

“You think I did the right thing?”

Merlin stayed at his spot by the door and looked at Arthur consideringly for a moment, as if weighing his options. “I’m just a servant,” he answered finally. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“You’ve known sorcerers in the past though,” Arthur countered, thinking immediately of Merlin’s friend, the brash boy from Ealdor who’d had magic. Magic that he’d used to save his village. And then he’d died saving Arthur’s own life. “You can’t truly believe it’s evil.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed and Arthur clarified, confused. “Your friend? Will?”

Merlin’s eyes widened for a moment, but he caught himself quickly. “Right,” he said, but didn’t continue.

“So?” Arthur prompted.

Merlin quirked an eyebrow.

“Should I have executed him? Is magic the root of all evil in the world, as my father believed?”

Merlin just stared.

Arthur sighed, eyes catching on the volumes of Camelot’s laws sitting on their usual shelf in the corner of his chambers. “You’re dismissed for the rest of the day, Merlin.”

Merlin blanched, “What?” he croaked. “But it’s barely mid-afternoon!”

But Arthur merely waved him off, rising to walk over to his shelf. “I have work I need to do. You’ll just distract me with your chatter.”

“Arthur, we haven’t really even talked about your dream—”

“—So use this time to go help Gaius research. Besides,” he said, thinking of his mother. “I’m… I’m sort of fine if I have to go back tonight.”

Merlin eyed him suspiciously. “You’re sleeping in a lot more.”

Arthur blinked. “What does that have to do with my dreams?”

“It’s just… If you’re staying in this dream world longer and longer, what if that’s the point? That one day, you won’t wake up?”

That gave Arthur pause, but he quickly shook it off, feeling calm at the possibility. “I didn’t sleep _that_ much later,” he insisted. Merlin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Arthur continued, eager to get to his own research. “But if you’re so concerned, go make yourself useful and help Gaius rather than acting like a helicopter mum.”

“What’s… What’s a ‘helicopter mum?’”

Arthur froze. Right. Future. Air travel. Not relatable. 

“It doesn’t matter, just go, Merlin.”

“But—”

“—You’re dismissed.”

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh of annoyance, turned and opened the door, then paused, looking over his shoulder. “Arthur,” he said quietly. “You did the right thing.” 

Arthur nodded and Merlin left. With Merlin’s affirmation behind him, Arthur felt lighter, a familiar sense of determination taking over him as he removed a heavy tome containing Camelot’s laws from the shelf. He was about to put his dream self’s barrister training to good use.

* * *

Merlin felt like he was in shock the entire walk back to Gaius’ quarters. First Arthur had let a magic-user live which, Merlin admitted, wasn’t _entirely_ out of character, but still raised a number of eyebrows. But then, he’d argued with Agravaine over the criminalization of magic in front of his knights, guards, and the entirety of the Council.

He barely made a sound as he entered the physician quarters and Gaius only looked up at the sound of the door closing softly.

“Ah, Merlin,” he said. “You’re back early. How’s Arthur doing?”

“Hmm?” Merlin asked, still a little dazed. “Oh, he’s… Well, he’s definitely enchanted.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Merlin to take a seat on the bench. “Explain.”

So Merlin did. He told Gaius about how Arthur had come to him in the armory, talking about Gwen and Lancelot. How in his dream, he’d spoken to his mother and expressed a desire to remain in the dream world, just to see her again. How they had been soon after summoned to the throne room and Arthur’s face had turned white when the boy was brought before him. How he had not only let the boy go with nary a word about his use of magic, but also with a supply of food for him and his family. How furious he had become when, after he sent the boy home, Agravaine even suggested that the boy be executed. And finally, he told Gaius of Arthur’s strange question about magic and how he’d seemed almost disappointed when Merlin hadn’t immediately answered, too caught up in his own shock.

“It is strange,” Gaius admitted. “But Arthur hasn’t been totally against sorcery in the past. Especially when a child was involved, as I seem to recall.

Merlin felt his expression harden. He remembered Mordred and the prophecy, too, after all. 

Seeming to sense that Merlin was not about to respond, Gaius gave him a small smile and continued. “Perhaps this is an encouraging sign,” he said lightly, “that Arthur is more open to magic than his father.”

Merlin shook his head. “It won’t matter. I still can’t— He’d still—” Merlin felt his eyes grow hot and he quickly averted his gaze so that he could pretend Gaius hadn’t noticed. Even if Arthur did accept magic, he’d still have to hide his own. Maybe Arthur would be able to forgive the magic, but the lies? No, the lies would ruin them.

Gaius reached across the table and rested his hand on Merlin’s. “‘The half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole,’” he quoted and Merlin let out a snort, thinking of Kilgharrah’s reaction to the present situation. Probably infuriatingly smug. His face grew somber almost immediately, though, as he imagined Arthur’s reaction to the fact that, in addition to magic, Merlin was a dragonlord. Not to mention the dragonlord who freed Kilgharrah in the first place. Gaius’ voice dragged him back to reality. “It will be alright, Merlin.”

Merlin sniffed and, determined to at least put on an appearance of having it together, said, “I’m gonna take some books up to my room and see if I can find anything else about his dreams. I ate with Gwen earlier, so you don’t need to fix me anything for dinner.” He grabbed several books before Gaius could respond and made his way upstairs. He didn’t need to see Gaius’ sad expression as he watched his ward leave.

Hours later, still having found nothing that would explain Arthur’s nighttime trips to the future, Merlin laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, instead replaying his earlier conversation with Arthur about Gwen and Lancelot. As he rolled over and curled in on himself, he wondered if he was a terrible person, a terrible friend, if he hoped that Arthur would cease their courtship. That he could have a chance.

* * *

By the time Arthur was getting himself ready for bed, he was cursing his earlier decision to dismiss Merlin for the night, wishing he was there to provide insight into Arthur’s current dilemma. 

He’d gone through Camelot’s laws on sorcery, both before the Great Purge and after, and was surprised to see just how regulated it had been. He supposed it made sense, given how much damage one sorcerer could do, though he tried not to think specifically of Morgana. He’d made numerous notes in the margins, but there was something nagging at him. 

The laws on sorcery, even before the Purge, had treated magic as something dreadful, even magic that appeared to be used for medicinal purposes. And yet... Some laws had alluded to magic being innate—something that someone could be _born_ with. 

Finding himself genuinely unfamiliar with what exactly magic was, Arthur had made his way down to the castle’s library. He was eventually able to bully the location of several books about druids and magic itself out of Geoffrey, who seemed too baffled that Arthur would be in the library at all, let alone looking for the banned books on sorcery, to really deny his request. 

After a few hours of reading, Arthur only found himself further into his research, but with no real answers to show for his efforts. And judging by the moon’s position in the sky, it was getting late. 

Rubbing his aching eyes, Arthur had decided to call it a night and was currently staring at his bed, reliving the day. It struck him how, before he’d gone into the dream world, he may have been content to at least throw Gideon in the dungeons for the night. He recalled his own voice from earlier, angry at the lack of social structures that, as far as Arthur knew, didn’t exist in this world. He thought of how, in London, he was training to become a barrister and defend civil liberties and human rights and wondered how his other self would view the treatment of magic users in Camelot.

 _Persecution,_ he thought. _He’d consider it persecution._ He stopped himself before he could head down the rabbit hole that was asylum law. “It’s far too late for that,” he mumbled to himself, attempting to straighten out the covers, which were still untouched from the morning. Speaking of, “Where’s…?”

Lady Winnifred was nowhere to be found. Flipping the covers he searched for the princess doll that he was sure he’d left on the bed. It wasn’t that he liked the doll. He didn’t. Really. It was just that, well, it shouldn’t be left on the floor, is all. He certainly didn’t feel a jolt of panic when he had stripped the entire bed and still came up empty. 

Arthur dropped to his hands and knees and peered under his bed, feeling himself relax as he caught a glimpse of the doll, lying face down on the floor. “There you are,” he crowed, unable to keep the relieved smile from his face. Grabbing the doll and climbing back into bed, he turned it over in his hands, thinking that maybe there was still hope that his people would love, rather than fear him.

His thoughts drifted back to his mother and he couldn’t help the anticipation welling in his chest. Probably he shouldn’t be looking forward to falling into an enchanted sleep just to see her, but here he was. He looked down at the doll. 

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked, feeling a little silly, but needing to voice the thought aloud. “I’m a little jealous of enchantment me. He doesn’t have to wait until he falls asleep to have everything he wants. He just has it.” He thought of his parents, alive and well and happy, of Morgana who didn’t despise him, and of Merlin, who he would hopefully be waking up next to in just a few moments and attempted to tame the green beast of jealousy sparking in his chest. “He’s the luckiest man in the universe and he doesn’t even know it.”

Even as he said the words, he felt a bit guilty, knowing that Merlin—the _real_ Merlin—was desperately trying to find a way to break him from this enchantment and worried that Arthur might not wake up. However jealous he was of his dream, he didn’t think he could put Merlin through that. He held up the doll one last time. “Don’t tell Merlin,” he said sternly, before setting her down on the pillow next to him. He thought about placing her on the nightstand, lest Merlin come in to see him snuggling with the doll _again,_ come morning, but found he didn’t have the heart to do so. 

There was just something about that doll, he decided, and drifted off into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, it’s me, back at ya with some hot, fresh excuses, but here’s an extra-long chapter for your patience 🙃 Honestly, this was planned out and more than halfway done a while ago, but after an unfortunate incident involving one of my best friends and my car door, I kind of got nerve damage in one of my fingers so typing sort of takes a while now. Luckily it’s healing nicely and should be back to normal in the next month or so, and it’s getting easier to type around that finger now that I can generally use the rest of that hand.  
>   
> Story-wise, for those dedicated hardcore to canon, you’ll notice that Lancelot is actually dead at this point in the canon timeline. But because we love and cherish Guinevere in this house, and she deserves nice things, he’s alive because the writers killing him off in the first place was dumb and I didn’t like it anyway ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
>   
> And we finally get to see Arthur thinking for himself a little bit, which is probably what I was most excited to write. I feel like his character development when it came to recognizing magic as not being evil kept getting ripped away in the show, so hopefully the direction I’m taking this still manages to be in character. Side note, my background is in immigration law and I currently work exclusively with asylees, so I have a lot of thoughts regarding the application of asylum law to the Merlin universe. Originally I was going to have Arthur go into that field, but then this fic would end up being an Asylum 101 class which would only be fun for maybe three people on this planet besides me, so I restrained myself. You’re welcome.  
>   
> As a parting note, I’m (moderately?) active on tumblr (https://ghostrevs.tumblr.com/) and am always down to interact with you guys, so, you know, drop me a line!


	8. Family Portrait

“Something’s wrong,” Arthur insisted for the fifth time. “This is taking too long.”

He could feel Merlin rolling his eyes. “We got off the plane barely ten minutes ago,” he replied patiently. “And we were the first ones through customs because you plowed past everyone. Give them a minute to get the luggage off the plane.”

Arthur pouted and checked his mobile once again. The text from his mother, “We just got to Arrivals 😊” had come through as the seatbelt sign had blinked off and Arthur had been vibrating in excitement ever since, grabbing Merlin by the hand at the first opportunity and rushing off the plane, with Merlin shouting apologies for him over his shoulder as he was pulled along like a ragdoll. Arthur couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed as he glanced longingly at the door leading to the meeting area. Beside him, Merlin softened.

“I can wait for our stuff if you want,” he said, placing a soothing hand on Arthur’s bicep. “Go see your parents.”

Physically restraining himself, Arthur shook his head. “No,” he forced out reluctantly. “No, I can wait. Besides, if I leave you, mum will just yell at me and say I’m bullying you into carrying my things.”

His declaration was met with a snort. “At least Ygraine looks out for me.” 

Normally, Arthur would have responded by putting his boyfriend in a headlock, but at that moment, a pronounced _thunk!_ came from the baggage carousel as it began to move. Arthur, who had insisted on waiting until just before the final boarding call, despite their first class tickets, and checking their luggage at the gate in an effort to get it sooner once they landed, zeroed in on the first bag he saw, trying to determine if it was theirs by the wheels alone, despite it not even being properly on the carousel yet. He may have been a bit conspicuous.

“Sorry,” he distantly registered Merlin saying to a girl Arthur may or may not have bowled over getting off the plane. And possibly again just now. “He’s just really excited to see his mum.”

Ignoring the girl’s response, which seemed to consist entirely of cooing, Arthur let out a cry of triumph as he spotted Merlin’s bright blue suitcase, across the front of which was a large sticker declaring the contents to be ‘emotional baggage,’ followed by his own, much more conservatively designed bag. Arthur grabbed both bags, pressed the handle of Merlin’s into his boyfriend’s grip, and latched onto his lanky arm, all but dragging Merlin behind him. With a jaunty wave and signature goofy smile, Merlin mouthed something to the girl he’d been speaking to while pointing at Arthur, which caused her to snicker and return the wave as Arthur barreled them through the door.

A small crowd was gathered at Arrivals, but Arthur found that he couldn’t spot either of his parents. 

“Do you think they got the wrong terminal?” he asked, maybe a little frantically. Merlin shook his head and pointed silently to the Trib’s to Arthur’s right. Arthur was immediately rendered immobile as he spotted the back of his mother’s blonde head at a small bistro table. He may have forgotten to breathe. His father glanced up from his seat across from Ygraine and met his eyes. For a moment, Arthur felt his back straighten, but then Uther broke into an unrestrained grin and Arthur felt himself fighting against the burning in the back of his eyes.

His father was alive.

The realization felt stupid, because _of course_ his father was alive, Camelot had been nothing but a nightmare. But still… 

Before Arthur really even knew it, Uther Pendragon was standing before him, affectionately calling his name, his arms held out expectantly. Arthur stepped into the embrace, holding his father tighter than he ever had in the past, if Uther’s muffled, ‘Oof,’ was anything to go by.

“Hi, Dad,” he mumbled into the man’s shoulder. He felt his father stiffen momentarily, perhaps taken aback by Arthur’s sudden display of genuine, overwhelming affection, but he softened almost immediately and returned Arthur’s embrace, just as strong. 

“Arthur!”

Arthur lifted his head, still not letting go of his father, to see his mother, who had finished clearing off the table the couple had been sitting at, flitting towards them. 

Knowingly, Uther separated from his son and turned to Merlin, offering him his own hug and line of inquiry as to their trip.

Arthur stumbled a little into his mother’s arms and, as he pressed his face into her hair and lifted her off the ground, spinning her in his enthusiasm, thought that he might never let her go. He set her back down and bowed his head, so that it was resting on her shoulder, and fought off the competing urges to both laugh and cry as Ygraine’s fingers threaded through his hair. 

“How are you, my darling?” she asked softly. 

A short laugh managed its way through his defenses. 

“Great,” Arthur answered wetly as Merlin laughed at something his father said behind him. “Never been better.”

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Merlin turned restlessly on his mattress. He felt as though he’d been lying there, pleading fruitlessly with sleep for ages. But every time he’d felt himself on the verge, felt himself sluggishly, finally drifting off into the beginnings of sleep, the claw of anxiety would grip into his heart, and his spiraling thoughts and resulting nausea shot him back into consciousness. He lifted his head and slammed it back into his pillow, resisting the urge to scream in frustration, but only barely.

Eyeing the stack of books still present at his bedside, Merlin wondered if he should just forgo sleep and press forward with researching Arthur’s enchanted sleep. If nothing else, reading the same useless information over and over might actually be the push he needed to finally give into sleep. If only he could bring himself to sit up. 

Instead, Merlin let his gaze stray towards the window. The courtyard and castle were dark, the only pinpricks of light coming from the torches manned by the guards at the castle entrance.

Except that wasn’t quite true. There was also a dim light coming from one of the windows. 

Merlin sat straight up, wide awake. 

Those were Arthur’s chambers. Why the hell did he still have enough candles lit to be seen from the courtyard?

Pulling himself out of bed and creeping silently past Gaius, it wasn’t until Merlin was outside Arthur’s chamber doors, supplying the posted guards with a shrug, that he remembered Arthur had dismissed him quite forcefully for the night. He hesitated, but pushed through the doors anyway, mentally preparing to dodge whatever projectiles the king had within his reach.

He needn’t have worried, though. Arthur was fast asleep, the candles at the window nearly spent. 

_Cabbagehead,_ thought Merlin fondly as he made his way over to put them out. He grimaced when he noticed the books and scrolls strewn about the desk, no rhyme or reason to the chaos. He’d deal with that mess in the morning. 

Merlin turned, fully intending to leave the room.

“Mrrrl’n…”

Merlin froze as Arthur turned over in his sleep. “Mrrrl’n,” he said again. “Budge up. Yer’in… in the way.”

Merlin felt his expression go flat in annoyance. _Great,_ he thought. _In the way, even in his dream world._

But then Arthur let out a small, but genuine laugh and Merlin felt his heart melt, just a little bit. He wandered over and knelt beside the bed, leaning against the mattress, his head resting on his forearms. He took in a sleeping Arthur’s grin and by no means missed the possessive way he clung to Lady Winnifred in his sleep. Merlin would have to find the family that made the doll. They’d never believe it.

“Ss’fine, Mum,” Arthur mumbled, still smiling. “Loves me anyway.”

Once again, Merlin felt himself freeze as he gazed curiously at Arthur, who was now pressing his face into the dolls hair and laughing in his sleep. Carefully, Merlin lifted his hand and rested it against Arthur’s fringe, brushing it ever so slightly against his forehead. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on in your dream world,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you found her.”

With that admission, Merlin retrieved his hand and dropped his chin onto the mattress. _Just a few moments longer,_ he thought. _Just to make sure he's okay._ _Then I’ll head back._

He had barely finished the thought before drifting off.

* * *

The guest suite really was lovely, Arthur thought. It had large bay windows and a set of French doors which led to a small balcony looking directly out to the Mediterranean sea, Monaco clearly visible across the way. He rested against the railing and let out a content sigh, the sea breeze calming against his face. Inside, Merlin was setting their suitcases on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

“Are you planning on helping me unpack, like, at all?” he called out.

Arthur snorted and turned, leaning back against the railing, a smirk playing about his lips. “And deprive you of the view?” he asked innocently. “It’s not often you get to see me with a backdrop like this. It’s almost as blue as my eyes.”

Merlin groaned. “God, you are such an arrogant _arse_ , Pendragon!”

“Still mad about me sitting on you back in the car, then?”

“Oh, piss off.” 

Grinning, Arthur pushed off the balcony and joined Merlin inside. The other man was aggressively unpacking, but his lips were quirked in a barely-there smile. Arthur wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his head on his shoulder and kissing Merlin on the jaw. “I’m sorry for sitting on you,” he said patronizingly.

Merlin snorted, but leaned into the touch. “Crushing me, more like. I thought I’d die there with all that weight on top of me. Whatever would you have told my poor, grieving mother?”

“Not fat,” Arthur grumbled, nipping at Merlin’s ear. “S’all muscle.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Merlin sang, then pushed off from Arthur. “C’mon,” he said. “We really need to get this unpacked if you want to chat with your parents before dinner.”

Arthur sighed, but grudgingly opened his own suitcase and began haphazardly throwing clothing into the dresser. He hated unpacking nearly as much as he hated packing.

Merlin was unimpressed. “Really Arthur?” he asked, to which Arthur replied with an irritatingly sunny grin as he made to simply upend his entire suitcase into the drawer. Merlin snatched it away, laughing. “You’re useless. Give it here.”

Arthur had already handed the suitcase over when he remembered with a jolt that he’d hidden the ring under his pants, which Merlin had just unearthed. _“Wait!”_ he yelled and did the first thing that came to mind: rugby tackling Merlin to the ground and placing him in a headlock.

 _“Arthur!”_ his long-suffering boyfriend yelled as they toppled over and began wrestling on the floor. “Gerroff!”

“Sorry, can’t do that, Merlin.”

_“Arthur!”_

“Well. Now I know you boys are adults, but you should know that your father and I are just down the hall and the walls here _are_ fairly thin.”

Arthur and Merlin blinked owlishly up at Ygraine, who had appeared in the open doorway and looked to be holding back a laugh. 

“Arthur darling, do let go of poor Merlin. He looks like he’s turning purple.”

Immediately, the two scrambled to their feet, Merlin stuttering out an apology, which really made no sense, as Arthur was the one who had started the skirmish.

Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, Ygraine waved Merlin’s words away and linked her arm into his. “Don’t worry about it, dear. You just come with me and I’ll show you the garden. Arthur can finish up here.” She led Merlin from the room, though not before Merlin shot a panicked look in Arthur’s direction, which Arthur merely met with a shrug. Once his mother set her mind on something, it would happen. Best to just go along with it. 

Sullenly, Arthur realized that, while he had successfully kept Merlin from prematurely finding the ring, he now had to unpack _both_ suitcases by himself. He grimaced but, upon fishing the small velvet box out of his bag and flipping it open, felt a smile overtake his features. 

“I see my hints have paid off.”

Arthur startled and looked up to see his father eyeing him knowingly through wire framed glasses. 

He scoffed. “To be fair, I bought this over a year ago, long before your scenic venue ‘hints’ started.”

“Then it seems you’ve shown remarkable restraint.”

Arthur held out the box to his father for inspection. “I suppose.”

Uther accepted the box and sat down next to his son on the bed. “It’s lovely,” he said after a moment. “Subtle. Merlin will appreciate that.”

Arthur grinned. “Well I could hardly get him a five-carat ‘blood diamond,’ could I?”

Laughing, Uther replied, “I should certainly think not.” He returned his gaze to the ring box, turning it carefully. After a beat of silence, he passed it back to Arthur. “How are you? Really? I know you haven’t told us everything.”

For the briefest moment, Arthur hesitated. He certainly hadn’t planned on telling his parents the full details of his hospital visit. But then Uther placed his hand on Arthur’s knee and Arthur’s resolve shattered into a million pieces.

Growing up, Uther had always been a serious man—inquiring after Arthur and Morgana’s studies and holding them to high academic and personal expectations—but he had still been loving, in an understated sort of way. When Morgana had flat-out refused to study law, Uther had given her fashion-designing dreams his reluctant blessing and focused his hopes of keeping his corporate law firm in the family onto Arthur. When Arthur announced that he _would_ be studying law, but would be focusing on humanitarian rather than corporate law, Uther had looked skyward for strength, but offered the use of the firm’s conference room when it came time to study for exams, muttering about a junior associate who showed promise and how he supposed he would do, if Arthur was truly set in his choice. And ever since Merlin, who displayed physical affection with _everyone_ , had come into the Pendragons' lives, Arthur found himself on the receiving end of hugs and friendly slaps on the back from his father more often than not.

All this to say that Arthur _knew_ his father loved him. So why did this display of fatherly concern have Arthur feeling as though he might cry from relief? Why did it feel like he’d been touch-starved for years?

Before he had even realized that his shoulders had started to shake, he was pulled into an embrace, his father’s head resting atop his own. He started to shake harder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling away after a minute or so. “Sorry, it’s just… It’s kind of a long, weird story.” 

Uther regarded him carefully through his glasses. “I’m listening,” he said quietly.

And so Arthur took a deep breath and began speaking. He told him how he’d woken up and not recognized his surroundings and thought himself a king, how Merlin had been a servant, how Uther was dead and that he’d never met Ygraine, how Morgana wanted him dead, and though he hesitated, he told him, even now when he woke in the mornings, he was still dreaming of Camelot, although he no longer woke up confused about who he was. He hadn’t even told Merlin that, for fear of sending him into a panic, but also because Arthur wasn’t quite sure he’d been ready to admit it to himself. 

“It just, it still feels real in a way,” he concluded. “But I’m not losing myself to it the way I did that first morning. Like, I wake up and know it was a dream, but I just can’t shake it. Merlin’s worrying so much that he let you buy his plane ticket, but he’s trying to play it brave and normal, but it’s not. And I don’t know what to do.”

Uther was silent for a long moment. “When you say it feels real…”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s more that it doesn’t feel like a dream. Almost like recalling a memory.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I hate it,” Arthur replied immediately. “Why would I want to be in a world where I’m... _alone_ like that? Responsible for so many lives? Never having mum, Morgana hating me, you being dead, Merlin being… well, you know.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and he heard his own voice crack. “It was awful.”

Uther sighed and removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “I think you should go back to that doctor and inform her that you’re still experiencing this dream, even if it is only when you sleep now.”

“But Merlin—”

“—Would rather you not lie to him about your health, I’m sure,” his father finished a little sternly. Arthur nodded reluctantly. He was probably right. “That’s no way to start off a marriage, after all.”

Arthur felt his ears burn. _“Father!_ Don’t go spoiling my surprise.” But Uther merely laughed and waved away his son’s words.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” From downstairs, the door leading to the garden snapped shut and Arthur could hear the muffled laughs of his mother and Merlin re-entering the house. Uther slapped his palms to his knees and stood. “We should go down. It seems your mother’s finished with the garden tour.” He frowned, looking down at Arthur. “There’s nothing else, other than the dreams, is there? No other lingering effects?”

Over his father’s shoulder, Arthur caught a glimpse of the mirror on top of the dresser. His reflection was glaring at him with such intensity, Arthur worried for a moment that if it ever found a way through, he might just find himself in some serious trouble.

“No,” he choked out. “None.”

* * *

Merlin awoke with the sun in his eyes, a crick in his neck, and a sense of confusion as to why he had been asleep on the floor, leaning against a perfectly good bed. Blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes, he raised his head and realized that the reason for all three of his initial thoughts had a common answer: he’d fallen asleep next to Arthur’s bed, unable to fall asleep on his own until he’d known that Arthur was okay.

He snapped his head up and prayed to whatever god would listen that Arthur was still asleep, unaware that his manservant had come into his chambers at night to stare at him like a creep, and found that he was in luck, as Arthur was once again cuddled up to his rag doll and snoring lightly. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky and the general orange glow of the room, it was likely that the same guards who let him in last night had not yet been relieved. He wondered if it would be more embarrassing to leave to get Arthur’s breakfast now, or wait until after the shift change and claim he’d just been cleaning up while hoping that the last shift neglected to mention what time he’d arrived. 

As he looked around the room, Merlin’s eyes caught on the mess of papers he’d noticed on Arthur’s desk last night. Probably it was too early to get breakfast. And this way, he wouldn’t technically be lying, now would he?

With a groan, Merlin got up, made his way over to the desk, and began sorting through the books, papers, and scrolls when something gave him pause. Most of the materials on the desk pertained to magic. 

Confused, Merlin turned his attention to the parchment, which contained numerous notes, certain things circled and underlined, lines drawn from copies of passages of the law with surprisingly thoughtful commentary. The notes seemed to outline arguments that highlighted the ban on magic as a form of persecution and how, rather than magic being treated as a treasonous act in and of itself, perhaps it made more sense to focus on what type of magic was being used and how it was being used, prosecuting it they way one would as if an individual used a sword inappropriately. Even arguments for how magic could be used to benefit the kingdom. There were already the beginnings of a draft for new laws. It was all in Arthur’s handwriting. 

Merlin dropped the scrolls and grabbed one of the books. It had numerous strips of parchment peeking out of it, containing notes and questions, many of them circling around whether—

Merlin whipped his head up to stare at Arthur’s sleeping form.

Whether one could be born with magic.

Fingers trembling, Merlin looked back down at the papers containing Arthur’s notes. 

_So if magic is an immutable characteristic for some sorcerers (warlocks???),_ said one, _it would be fundamentally discriminatory to prosecute it as a criminal choice._

 _Inequity in punishment when compared to non-magical crimes,_ said another.

One note was simply two circles labeled ‘Druids’ and ‘Non-Druids,’ with the overlapping portion in the middle reading ‘Magic Users.’ Scrawled underneath the 'Druid' circle were the words _disproportionate prosecution_ , which had been underlined three times.

On a note stuck in between pages of a chapter which discussed magic also being a learned art, Arthur had written: _Perhaps some kind of program that teaches everyone the basics of magic and its uses to remove stigma?_ And underneath, as if added as an afterthought: _Would require formal schools first :(_

Merlin snapped the book shut.

Arthur may have been more lenient than his father on magic in the past, but this was a whole new level of understanding, empathy, and thoughtful commentary that Merlin hadn’t really thought Arthur capable of.

Before the hope could grow too much in his chest, though, a stab of fear went through him. “Morgana,” he whispered. Could this be her plan? To trap Arthur in a dream world and feed him suggestions to change the law? And then… what? Somehow use Arthur as a puppet and take the kingdom for herself?

Deciding to consult Arthur before his thoughts got too far away from himself, Merlin rushed to the bed, still holding the book.

“Arthur,” he called, shaking the king by his shoulder. “Arthur, wake up, what is this? Arthur!”

But Arthur didn’t move, still fast asleep.

 _Okay,_ Merlin thought. _Don’t panic. He’s always been a heavy sleeper._

“Arthur!” he yelled and shook harder. “Arthur, wake up!”

Still nothing but the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s breath.

Dropping the book on the bedside, Merlin staggered back, trying to calm the horror he felt taking over his senses.

“Guard!” he yelled, his voice cracking.

Immediately, the chamber door opened and a guard entered.

“Get Gaius,” Merlin choked out. “Quickly.”

The guard nodded and departed the room, and Merlin turned his attention back to his friend. “Arthur,” he called, pulling the man into a sitting position and continuing to shake him. “Arthur stop this, you’re scaring me, come on now. Joke’s over.”

But still, Arthur did not move. 

After what felt like an eternity, Gaius hurried into the room, worried as Merlin had ever seen him.

“Merlin? What’s wrong? The guards said you needed me urgently.”

“It’s Arthur,” Merlin forced out, blinking back tears. “He won’t wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀👀👀
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but hope you enjoyed! I’m starting to think I might be physically incapable of writing canon!Uther. He always seems to morph into Rupert Giles because I just want Arthur to have at least one Good Parent™ and be happy and really??? Who doesn’t?


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